Coffee&Cigarettes

Part One

I lace up my combat boots and pull on my blue jean shirt, but leave it unbuttoned before I slip the house keys in my pocket of my skinny jeans and leave my dark hair in messy strands. “Miles!” I yell.

He walks in the room with his dark hair messy in his plaid pajama pants, holding the milk carton. “Yeah?” he says.

“First: use a cup.”

He shrugs and takes a swig.

“Whatever. Put a shirt on; I don’t want to see all that. I’m going to get coffee.”

“Okay.”

“Meet me for breakfast in a half hour?”

“Yeah.”

I roll my eyes at my dysfunctional best friend and walk outside to grab my bike. “Lock the door when you leave!” I yell hoping he can hear me.

I park my bike in the metal rack against the brick building before I walk in the ‘Coffee and More’ shop to order a cappuccino. Nothing is better than coffee in the morning and anyone who disagrees with me is wrong and has obviously never started their day with it. Once I pay I walk back out to my bike.

I ride down the sidewalk, past one store and slam on my brakes, throwing my bike on the ground to stare into the window of the music store. They have all new band merchandise, ranging from shirts to bumper stickers and I’m dying to spend all my money on it.

Someone chuckles behind me so I swivel around to meet the eyes of the punk, grunge guy, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He takes a puff off his cigarette before throwing it to the ground but it looks barely used, which seems kind of wasteful if you’re going to be stupid enough to spend your money buying it.

I pick up my bike and straddle it, but force myself to stop when the stranger appears right in front of my tire. “I could have hit you,” I yell.

“Coffee?” he asks, paying no mind to the fact I could have run him over.

“What?”

“Can I get you coffee?”

I glance at his coffee cup and then mine in response.

“I didn’t say right now. Tomorrow morning at nine; right across the street.”

“Uh, okay, sure. What’s your name?”

“See you tomorrow, stranger.” He grins and walks away. Why wouldn’t he tell me his name? How does he expect me to meet a total stranger for coffee?

When I walk in Denny’s I spot Miles drooling over his Coke. I slide in the seat and clap my hands in front of his face to snap him out of his trance. “Why are you so sleepy?” I ask.

“Stayed up all night playing video games,” he replies.

“Loser.”

“You’re exceptionally rude this morning. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Anne,” he teases with a grin.

“This guy asked me out for coffee in the morning.”

“Name?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, taking a sip of my coffee. The menus are nowhere to be seen so I assume he’s already ordered for the both of us.

“What’s he look like then?” he questions.

“Uh, dark hair, long legs, um…”

“You’re terrible at this.”