Tempting - Lucian Alex. Страница 30

During my break, I splashed freezing cold water on my face in the bathroom and redid my hair. The bags under my eyes were more pronounced than they’d been when I’d woken up. There would be no helping them, but I squeezed eye drops into my eyes to hide some of the redness. My listlessness was echoed in the way I moved; slowly like I was in need of a hip replacement.

After exiting the bathroom and returning to my shift, I almost didn’t notice. I was so focused on staying awake for the walk to the register that I nearly disregarded the way my surroundings had changed since I’d entered the bathroom. I raised my head, my eyes connecting with the pair of eyes I’d been thinking about all fucking morning.

Nathan. The word formed on my lips upon meeting his gaze. I was rooted to the spot right behind the patisserie case, holding his eyes like I was physically incapable of doing anything else.

He looked good—damn him—if maybe a little tired. The circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced with his tanned skin, but in his eyes I saw it all: fatigue, remorse, expectation, desire. His body radiated a calmness that I envied.

He blinked, long black lashes sweeping over the tops of his cheekbones like he couldn’t believe I was here.

“Adele.”

The voice wasn’t his. I whipped my head toward the cash register, coming out of that shared moment with Nathan to where my head should be: at work.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a coworker asked.

I swallowed and shook my head, swiftly making my way to the register and my eyes focused down.

I smelled him before I saw him: that warm and spicy scent that was tied so closely to the memories of him I liked the most. My traitorous eyes lifted, meeting his. It was alarming, having him within touching distance when the one thing I couldn’t do was actually touch him.

“Wh-what can I get you?” I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, feeling out of my element for the first time. Why was he here? What did he want?

“Ah.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave me a moment’s respite as he scanned the board. “Just a medium coffee. Light cream.”

I wrote the order on the cup and hesitated on writing his name. Initially, I’d written “Nathan.” But my pen had hovered over that last ‘n’ a moment too long and I crossed through it roughly before shoving it in the trash and grabbing a new cup. Deftly, I wrote, “Prof. Easton” on the cup and passed it off to one of the baristas.

When I rang up his total and he handed me a five dollar bill, I felt my hands shake as I plucked it from him, careful not to make contact. When I reached my hand over to give him his change, his fingers curled around mine as I deposited the coin into his hand. My eyes snapped to his before darting away. He let go and I backed away. “Have a nice day,” I said dismissively.

Nathan looked to the barista making his coffee before he leaned forward. With a low voice, he said, “You didn’t reply.”

It took my brain a minute to catch up. His email and text.

“I was busy.”

He nodded slowly, licking his lower lip as he contemplated my answer.

“Do you…” his voice dropped off as he glanced at the only barista behind the counter with me, who was currently focused on pouring cream into his cup. We were running out of time to reasonably maintain a discussion and I was happy to prolong the moment. Tired Adele was more vulnerable than I’d expected.

I spun away, not answering him. I took the coffee from my coworker and pressed the lid onto it before setting it on the counter under the “pick up order here” sign. Nathan looked left and right again before walking down to me and placing his hand over mine on the cup, preventing me from being able to walk away without making a scene of extracting his hand from mine.

“What do you want?” I asked under my breath, making sure to keep an eye on my coworker. Because this was a campus coffee shop, the professors who frequented it weren’t strangers. He could be recognized by anyone, leaving them to wonder what I was doing talking so intently with him.

“I feel like we left things on the wrong foot last night.”

“I have to work.” I moved back to the register and gestured for the other barista to take a break.

It took less than ten seconds before Nathan was at the register again. “What do you want?”

He stood, staring at me for a moment. “A bagel.”

“What?” I shook my head. “A bagel?”

“What kinds do you have?” He stepped closer to the register. “I meant to order breakfast with my coffee.” He lifted the cup up between us and I ground my teeth.

“Cinnamon raisin, poppy seed, whole wheat.”

Nathan made a face. “Raisins? Who willingly chooses raisins in their baked goods?”

Because I knew he was stalling so that he could talk to me, I was fuming. Maybe I was experiencing PMS or maybe I was annoyed that he was trying to joke with me after the night before and all the confusing signals he gave me, but whatever it was drove me to say, “You do, today.” I thrust my hand into the case and pulled out a cinnamon bagel, popping it into the toaster and taking his money even as he looked bewildered. This time, when it was time to hand back his change, I dropped it on the counter and turned away to get the cream cheese from the refrigerator.

“Adele.” Nathan’s voice over the patisserie case caused me to drop the cream cheese covered knife on my apron, smearing it everywhere.

Glaring at him, I plopped the cream cheese onto the bagel and shoved it into a plastic bag. I stalked to the “pick up order here” side and tried to walk away after setting the bagel down, but he stopped me with a hand on my upper arm. He held me neither roughly or with threat, but I still felt frozen.

“Don’t make a scene,” he said through his teeth. He casually glanced around us before turning back to me. “We need to talk. Not here.” His thumb grazed the crook of my elbow and I tilted my head, feeling depleted of all the nervous energy seeing him had given me. His eyes paused on the bite on my neck and I watched the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Did I do that?” he asked on a whisper.

I opened my mouth to answer but was interrupted by a booming voice behind him. “Nathaniel.”

Nathan’s hand left my arm like I’d burned him, his eyes going wide before he schooled his features. “Sir,” he said turning around.

The man was in his fifties, his hair a blend of salt and pepper and his face tanned. He wore a suit and tie and looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him.

“Good morning,” the man said, looking between Nathan and me. His gaze paused on mine and he said, “Have we met?”

Nervously, I laughed. “I was just wondering the same thing.”

“Are you here on a scholarship?”

Wow, he didn’t throw any punches. It seemed an odd thing to ask and I struggled over my answer before he spoke again.

“I oversee many of the interviews for scholarship applications,” he explained. “What’s your name?”

“Adele,” I said, feeling it suddenly click into place. “I was awarded the Margaret Phillips Memorial Scholarship last year and again this year.”

He pointed a finger at me. “Yes, that’s it.” Seemingly pleased with himself, he tucked his hands into his pockets. “Adele Morello.”

“You have a great memory.” I vaguely remembered him, but couldn’t recall his name. “I’m sorry, I haven’t absorbed any caffeine through osmosis today,” I joked. “I can’t remember your name.”

Displeasure was like a lightning bolt over his face: there and gone so quickly I nearly didn’t see it. “Richard Easton.”

I flicked my eyes to Nathan, registered the same look of “fuck me” that must have been on my face. And then I turned back to Richard Easton and held out my hand. “Nice to see you again,” I said softly.

He held my hand in his and finally acknowledged Nathan next to him. “Nathaniel, is Ms. Morello one of your students?”