Moe Rivas has spent her whole life waiting for the perfect storybook romance, but as she approaches her senior year of college -- single, and incredibly disappointed with the male species -- she decides she's sick of daydreaming. Turning her back on...
Theo handed a large coffee to the redhead in front of me, and along her paper sleeve, I could just make out a cheery, Have a nice day!
She thanked him and left the shop in a splendid mood, and I slowly approached the counter, staring at the barista in dismay. "What, do you have favorites or something? I thought you only issued insults."
"Some people don't deserve to be insulted," he said simply, and he slid my two drinks over the countertop.
My eyes dipped to the scribbled note around my caramel latte. I treasure every moment you're nowhere near me, it read. And on the Americano beside it: to make up for bad company.
I dragged my gaze back to his, despising the way his lips twitched. "Had to get that out of your system, did you?"
"Was that on-brand enough for you?"
"If your brand is 'tacky high school bully,' then sure."
His brow vanished beneath his beanie. "Tacky?"
"These read like Reddit posts from the kids who wore tails to school. It's not your best work."
My cruelty impressed him. With an open-mouthed smile, he leaned forward, placing his palms flat against the counter. On either forearm, he'd detailed a laundry list of coffee orders and chemistry formulas in red and black ink, and I wasn't sure if he did it to achieve his hipster-punk look, or if he'd simply never heard of sticky notes. "Wow. Someone's feisty this morning."
"You bring it out of me."
Those pine forest eyes burrowed into mine, full of mirth, fenced in charcoal. "Do I? I didn't realize I had such an effect on you, Mona."
Dammit, Moe.
You walked right into that one.
Laughter spilled from his lips, and I scooped up my drinks and shuffled away, pretending like I didn't enjoy the way my name rolled off his tongue—as if he'd cursed my existence a thousand times behind closed doors.
I felt him watching me as I made for the exit, basking in his victory, but I refused to spare him another glance.
Theo always had to have the last word, and that was just one of the many reasons I found him intolerable. But there was also something...cathartic about our interactions.
I could speak to him freely and unreservedly, without the fear of triggering Carl's anxious ramblings. If anything, I felt more confident in his presence—bold and audacious and liberated. And on days like this, when we fed off each other's sarcasm and mutual distaste, the banter was almost...addicting.
But maybe that was just the coffee talking.
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My uncle lit his second cigarette, and I took a few moments to memorize his profile.
He'd always been a very handsome guy: tall, fit, and carved of bold edges. He'd inherited my grandparents' Guatemalan features and jasper skin tone, and like my mother, he bore dark brown, hooded eyes. However, his gaze was much warmer than his sister's, full of humor and mischievousness—even now, in his weakest state.
