If everything goes as planned, Adam will remain at his after-school program for the next two hours and I’ll be able to take a damn break. I need a minute, just a minute, where I’m not constantly surrounded by men who make my heart thump unsteadily. Men who make my hands slick with sweat as grasshoppers bounce around in my stomach.
Because every time I see them, my resolve wavers, and I can’t have that. I refuse to.
Whenever I close my eyes, I envision the scythe entering Zolroth’s stomach. My demon’s eyes had immediately flickered to me, pain emanating from their golden depths. It felt as if my heart was shredded into thousands of pieces smaller than confetti, as if someone was throwing the diminutive pieces into the air and watching them rain down.
Never again.
I know I only have a few minutes until the guys are on to me, so I make a beeline towards the downtown area, where tiny stores are clustered together and the sidewalk is lined with artificial trees. I duck past the occasional business man and woman, speed around a group of students walking home from school, before entering Espresso Brew, a quaint coffee shop nestled between a post office and an antique clothing store.
Once I’m inside the dank building, I’m greeted with the aroma of coffee beans and baked goods, the delicious, decadent scents permeating the air. I inhale greedily before peeking out the window, ensuring the street is devoid of any pesky demons.
But all I can see is Van’s desperate face in his office.
Zolroth’s bleeding stomach.
Kastros’s scowl in decathlon as he hurled javelins with his eyes at an oblivious William.
And all I can hear is Raz’s soft voice calling me “princess” and Akor’s confession.
Did he mean it? Does he…?
I shake my head from side to side, attempting to dislodge the hopeful thoughts that want to take root in my brain like pesky weeds.
Ignoring the tinny voice, almost like cackling radio waves, demanding that I go back, I step into line in the dimly lit shop. I glance around at the place, which has garage-sale-like mismatched chairs that have been reupholstered in loud, bold fabrics and scratched table tops that somehow give the place ambiance instead of being dingy. I’ll hide out here for, say, the next few hours. Remind myself once more of all the reasons why this relationship could never work.
And, if I’m being completely honest with myself, it’s not just because I’m their Center, the only being in Heaven or on Earth whose very existence makes them physically vulnerable.
It’s because I’m only one person, one girl. How am I supposed to hold the attention of five men who’ve been around for centuries? One’s a lust demon, for fuck’s sake, who has no doubt been with so many women, he’ll resent my virgin ass. What can I offer him that he can’t get elsewhere? What can I offer any of them?
Awkward facts about the lifecycle of the octopus or the periodic table? Gah! What man wants that? I mean seriously, in comparison to them, I don’t have anything special about me.
Those thoughts ricochet in my head, drowning me in self-loathing, as I step forward in line.
“You need to order, miss.” An irritated voice pulls me out of my musings, and I turn towards the counter just in time to see the woman in front of me cock her hip to the side, her head of purple hair tilted straight ahead instead of leaning back so she can see the menu board just above the coffee shop barista’s head.
I briefly wonder if I should change my hair from pink to purple, but then decide against it. Pink gives the illusion of cheerfulness. Some days, I need that illusion. Like today.
“Well, what do you have?” the girl pesters the worker, irritation underlying her words.
“You shouldn’t have gotten in line if you’re not ready,” the worker—a lanky, twenty-something-year old guy—snaps.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, stepping forward. I don’t like the way the barista is staring at the girl, as if she’s a pesky bug he’d like to stomp underneath his shoe.
The worker—Brad, his name tag reads—forces a smile.
“Maybe you can help your friend here.” Distaste practically oozes from his voice. Behind us, I hear one of the other customers grumble in impatience.
Whoa. Did some kind of wedgie demon walk in here? Seriously, what the hell is making everyone so grumpy?
I turn towards the girl, and my breath catches when I take stock of her for the first time.
For starters, she’s positively gorgeous. Purple hair cascades to the middle of her back in smooth, natural waves. Her features are devoid of any blemishes—small, pert nose, naturally rosy cheeks, and pink, plush lips. Her body is to die for as well, and I feel another niggle of self-consciousness. Large breasts, tapered waist, slender hips… She looks as if she could be a model. The leather jacket and skinny blue jeans only emphasize her natural curves.
The second thing I make note of is the pair of sunglasses obscuring her eyes from view. And in her hand, tapping in front of her, is a walking cane.
She’s blind.
Did the barista seriously not notice that? Brad deserves a nut punch.
“Maybe you can actually help me out instead of being a fuckwad,” she says lightly, the last word directed at the rude employee.
“Yeah, sure,” I say immediately, and then begin to read the menu aloud. “Pumpkin spice latte, flat cappuccino…”
After only thirty seconds, an old man behind me grumbles, “Hurry the fuck up.”
Of course, that only makes me read slower, and I see the girl’s lips twitch upwards. “Red eye, a combination of coffee and espresso.”
“I’ll have that! Large, please,” she interrupts me. Brad grumbles but places her order into the register. She then turns her head towards me expectantly. “What are you getting?” Digging into her purse, she grabs out a cute, flower-patterned wallet. “I’m paying.”
“You don’t need to—”
She waves her hand dismissively, cutting off my protest.
“Nonsense! Pick your poison.”
“Oh, um, I’ll just have a mocha. Small, please.”
The girl grins conspiratorially. “Make it a large. And also, we’ll take a chocolate chip muffin, please.” She turns to me, and whispers sideways, “They have those, right? Every coffee shop has those.”
Once I confirm they have the treat she wants, she pays for both of us, and we move to stand off to the side and wait for our order.
“Thank you,” I blurt like an imbecile, cheeks instantly flaming. “I mean, thank you for buying. My drink. You didn’t have to do that. Not that I don’t appreciate it! Because I do. Oh my god. I’m just going to stop talking now.”
The girl releases a tinkling laugh, one that garners the attention of every warm-blooded male in the vicinity. Even the douchebag Brad turns to stare at her, his eyes roaming over her form appreciatively.
“Well, thank you for not being an asshole.” Her lips curve into the beginnings of a smile, something that is both mischievous and genuine. “I’m Lucy, by the way.”
“Katrina.” I awkwardly extend my hand, before my dumb ass remembers that she’s blind. Quickly, I drop it back to my side and shuffle from foot to foot.
“Katrina.” Her tongue caresses my name, and if I were into girls, I would totally get a lady boner. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I don’t know a lot of people in this town yet.” She releases a petulant sigh.