I'm Not Dead

[ C H . 3 ]

Animate.

Animate was a pretentious name for what was likely regular coffee rebranded to look healthier. The story goes, social media savvy ecowarrior Moon River found an undiscovered brand of coffee beans on one of his nature expeditions. Originally, he'd been searching for some rare breed of mammal, but instead he found a business venture.

After being thoroughly tested, the beans were supposedly proven to be the healthiest coffee beans in existence, and the most delicious. His addictive coffee became so ridiculously popular in less than a year, his international shops put a lot of small coffee franchises out of business. Until today, I never dared stepped foot inside one of his shops, but after running across town and back with a hangover, I knew I needed a cup to get through my shift.

"Next please." The less than enthused barista called out from behind the counter. 

Stepping up, I offered her a dimpled smile as I leaned a very enthusiastic elbow on the counter. "Large coffee, sweet please."

Rolling her eyes at me, she put in my order before picking up the cup. "Name?" 

I ran a hand through the waves on my head before laughing. "Your next mistake." I extended a hand. "Rocco Maneli. Liquor connoisseur, troubled artist, and the sweetest man you'll ever let pleasure you in your sheets." At that, the teeniest tiniest grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. 

Lorenzo told me it was my dimples that closed the deal. His theory was, the deep crevasses on my cheeks released a pheromone that made me irresistible. I, however, think it was because there were a lot of folks looking for an adventure in New York and my damage made me interesting as hell. Everyone loved dating someone they couldn't truly fix. Just read any romance novel.

"I'll call you when your order's ready, Rocco," she said, misspelling my name on the cup and writing her number below it.

I don't know if I'll call her, but I do know the first sip of coffee after she yelled my name was pure heaven. Not because the coffee was good or anything, but because I was so drained from last night the caffeine sent a shockwave down my system. Each sip made me feel a little more alive as I walked to work. My headache cleared up, I felt perkier and the ache in my pupils dissipated. It was a strong caffeine brand, I'll give it that much. 

The museum was only a hop and a skip away from the coffee shop. The Centre of Yesterday was a family-owned history museum, designed with interactive exhibits for families. The only thing they couldn't touch was the artwork or weapon displays, which was the primary thing I had to prevent at my job. I never understood why they bothered putting in those displays but figured it was to keep the parents interested.

"Rocco! Why the hell are you an hour late?" Randy grumbled from behind the front desk as I strolled in. The bags under his eyes made his gravelly voice more menacing. He was a small man sprouting a beer belly, barely reached five foot four, had only wisps of hair left on his bald head, and always wore a cheap suit with a fashionable watch around his wrist. He was the museum curator and my boss.

"I was getting you coffee Randy. As I do every morning. The day you stop asking for coffee is the day I come in on time." 

Glaring at me in bald man rage, he opened his pinched mouth to say something but shut it when I shoved my half-drunk coffee in his hand.

He knew I didn't get it for him, but he didn't argue because he was desperate for security guards. I was good at my job. I respected the art. I showed up late most times but did show up ninety percent of the time. I was hired before my first disorderly arrest, so as far as he knew my record was clean. Despite my flaws, I was a win for his struggling business.