Kissing In Cars [ Vic Fuentes Fanic ]

Chapter 2 - The Coffee Shop.

Vic's POV

The first thing I registered when I woke up was the pounding sensation in my skull. "Agh," I groaned, my hands clutching at my temples for a sense of relief. 

How drunk had I gotten last night? 

I slid off the leather couch of our living room - the boys and I shared a house. They were difficult to live with every now and then, but the rent got paid and we all got along. We were a team, after all - and wandered into the kitchen where the clock flashed 10:00am. I was the only one with a hangover, yet I was the first one up?

I needed coffee and painkillers, those came first. I sluggishly moved toward the coffee pot, only to see two broken open, dangerous looking hot dogs soaking in the now lukewarm water. "Jaime..." I brought a hand to my head, pinching the bridge of my nose and dumping out the contents of the pot. He was the only one lazy enough to pull something like this. "You use. The stove. You use the stove." I repeated, though I knew Jaime was nowhere in sight. I set the glass pot, now charred at the bottom, in the dish washer before downing a glass of water and some painkillers. 

I took a seat at the counter, thinking back to last night:  the breakup was the first thing that came to mind. "Brooke... ugh." I groaned, placing my head in my hands and laying my forehead against the counter. I still don't understand what I had done wrong. All I remember is her breaking it off, like she'd found someone better...

And then I remembered Cara.

My eyes shot open and I rose from my slouch, pulling out my phone and finding her number. I had no clue to what I was doing, or why I was calling her. I just wanted to hear her voice.

On the fourth ring, the only voice I heard was the automated service telling me the number was either incorrect or disconnected. 

I tossed the phone to the counter and slumped my shoulders. Something in me was disappointed that she hadn't trusted me enough to give me her real number. On the other hand, I didn't blame her; I had been next to wasted, and, if I had been in her place, I wouldn't have given out my number to some stumbling drunk either.

After several minutes I had almost dozed off on the counter. Blinking a few times and rubbing at my eyes, I headed upstairs to change my clothes and snatched my keys off the counter, scribbling a quick a note so they knew I didn't ditch again. Then, I hit the road to the farthest coffee shop I could find.

Cara's POV

Last night had been the first night in years that I had gotten a decent sleep. There had been no nightmares, no flashbacks, nothing. Instead I dreamt of... You know who. 

I don't know what it was, but I couldn't get Vic out of my head. Half of me wished I had given him my real number, but the sensible part of me said that he wouldn't have contacted me anyways. 

"Cara? Costumers!" Marie snapped at me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I straightened my green visor and shirt, dusting off my black jeans and approached the counter. I kept my head down and stared at the register, just like I always did with costumers.

Lets just say a lot of college kids came in here, and I didn't like being recognized that much.

"Welcome to Starbucks, what'll you have today?" I asked politely. 

A muffled, tired voice replied. "Large black coffee, please." I glanced up with a raised eyebrow, but the costumer was busy rubbing his hands against his face.

"Rough night?" I asked with a chuckle. He seemed to drop his hands just as I turned to make his drink.

"It started off pretty rough, but then I met this girl..." Something in his voice had changed, almost like recognition. Probably just another annoying college guy, I thought to myself. "I wanted to see her again, and thank her for not leaving me shitfaced in the street, but I guess she gave me the wrong number... Cara?"