BROKEN (Herophine Fanfic)

10

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There's something about Courtney Love.

I guess it's no surprise she inspires bad behavior.

It takes all the self-control I have to pry myself from the couch.

To drag myself to the table.

To actually explain the project.

Hero's a surprisingly good listener and he's great at following directions. We finish the first round of painting in under an hour.

Break for dinner while we wait for it try dry.

He knows an Indian place with a vegan menu.

The food is amazing and sitting with him trading gossip about our classmates is better.

He spills a dozen secrets.

I laugh so much it hurts.

Then we get into the usual getting to know you stuff.

Where are you from (we both grew up in Orange County).

What do you do for fun (he reads Star Wars books. Star Wars! I run and watch movies. All movies. And listen to music. Nonstop).

Favorite foods (burgers for him, anything chai flavored for me).

Thank God, his sister gets home just in time to stop me from doing something really stupid.

She's a perky teenager with a lot of style and even more energy.

He insists she eats—he ordered her vegetable curry with our dinner.

I take the excuse to get back to work.

Until we finish.

And he insists on dropping me off at my place.

And I come so, so close to kissing him goodbye.

But I don't.

He sits next to me at class.

Punches his number into my phone.

Insists on helping me study for biology.

Ditches a party to do it.

It feels so, so good, studying close to him.

Again, I come so, so close to kissing him.

Again, I chicken out.

The espresso machine steams. If it were possible for the room to smell more like coffee, it would. As it is—

I'm not sure I'm ever washing this aroma from my skin.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy coffee. With a little almond milk and agave, it's pretty damn good.

But lying in bed, trying to fall asleep when my hair smells like java?

Not so much.

I pull the shot. Drop it into ten ounces of steamed milk. Set the white cup on the counter. "Steve."

A tall guy with long hair reaches for his drink. He brings it to his lips.

Swallows with a sigh.

Instantly, every drop of impatience fades from his expression.

It feels good, serving people a drink that brings them pleasure.

Even if most of the people are crabby drug addicts in need of their morning fix.

"Thank you." I smile at the customer. Move back to the counter in search of my fix. My homemade chai is now lukewarm, but it's still good.

Strong, sweet, spicy, creamy.