Loser || WlW

Eight

"Isn't that the girl from the diner?" Brittany lifts her sunglasses above her eyebrows and squints through the window of the coffee shop. "Look," she slaps my arm, "it totally is. The one who helped you after –"

My cheeks burn. "Oh, weird. Maybe." I pull my backpack onto my lap and push on the door handle. The door's locked. I dare to glance at Brittany.

She raises an eyebrow at me.

"I just mean," I let out a nervous laugh. "What are the odds?"

With narrowed eyes, Brittany gives a single, skeptical nod. "Whatever. Do you need a ride home?" She doesn't miss a beat. Leave it to Brittany to skip right over the awkward.

"A what?"

Brittany blows a bubble with her gum, pops it. "God, don't make it weird. Do you have a ride home from your..." her eyes shift to Grace and back to me, "date? Or do you need me to pick you up?"

I didn't think it would be possible but my cheeks get warmer.

I swallow and shake my head, still feeling around behind me for the door handle. "It's okay." I smile. "I'll figure it out."

Brittany flips her glasses back in place. "See you later."

I stare at her an extra second, considering if I should give in and beg her not to tell anyone or if I should let the subject drop. I decide on the latter and push my way out of the car and take a deep breath. I was so focused on Brittany finding out I'm gay I hadn't realized how nervous I am about the date.

The door dings.

"Welcome." Grace is monotone as she washes something out in the sink. I glance at my watch. I'm early.

"Hey, what can I get for you?" A thin guy with a blonde bun is smiling at me from behind the counter.

I'm about to ask for whatever their best seller is when Grace's eyes meet mine. Her cheeks flush red as she smiles. She wipes her hands off on her apron and tells the guy she'll take over for him.

"Hey."

I blush. "Hey."

"Your hair looks good, you know, without the ice cream," she says, motioning to her hair.

My smile spreads. "Really? Ice cream is like my first choice when it comes to hair product."

She laughs. That smile. "I'm off in five. What should I make for you?"

"I don't really drink coffee," I admit.

Her eyes narrow, dangerous, and playful. "Why'd you agree to grab coffee then?" She leans against the counter, her palms flat against the fake granite.

"I, uh." My mind shoots into overdrive.

I was wrong. This isn't a date.

"I just," I manage a chuckle but the panic is evident in my tone.

"What is it, Jordan?"

I tug at the collar of my shirt. I'm melting under her stare. "I prefer tea." Lie. My eyes dart around the floor, as I grip the straps of my backpack with white knuckles.

I glance at her lips, twisted into a playful grin.

She nods toward an empty table at the back of the shop. "I'll make you some tea and clock out." Her grin grows into a smile.

We exchange a lingering stare before I make my way to the table.

Breathe in, breathe out. I don't like tea, but I think she believed me.