I don’t have time to dwell on it, though, because Macy’s got a fully loaded tray in her hands and is heading straight for me.
“That looks like more than Pop-Tarts and yogurt,” I tease as I help her set it down so she won’t spill anything.
“I did fine on the food, but when I got to drinks, I didn’t know if you wanted coffee or tea or juice or water or milk, so I brought one of each.”
“Oh, wow. Um, the juice is great.”
“Thank God.” She holds out a glass of red liquid. “I was afraid you were going to say you wanted the coffee, and then I was going to die. Especially since Cam drinks tea, so I can’t steal his when he gets here.”
She flops dramatically into the chair across from me.
“I promise, the coffee’s all yours,” I tell her with a laugh. “And you picked the right juice—cranberry is my favorite.”
“Good.” She takes a long sip of the hot drink just to prove a point. “I thought all you California girls were Starbucks addicts.”
“I guess Cam and I have something in common. It was always more about tea at my house. My mom was an amazing herbalist. She made her own tea blends, and they were fantastic.” It’s been a month, but I can still almost taste her lemon-thyme-verbena tea. I have a few bags of it in my carry-on, but I don’t want to drink it. And truth be told, I’m afraid to even smell it in case I start crying and never stop.
“I can only imagine.”
There’s something in the way Macy says it that gets my attention, that has me trying to figure out what she means. I wait for her to say more, but then her eyes go wide, and she starts choking on a sip of coffee.
Before I can turn around to see what’s got her so discombobulated, someone asks, “Is this seat taken?”
And then I don’t have to turn around at all. Because I’d know that voice anywhere.
Jaxon Vega just asked to sit next to me. In front of everyone.
It really is a brave new world.
27
Ten-Degree
Weather Gives a
Whole New Meaning to the
Cool Kids’ Table
“Um, yeah. Sure. Of course.” As I turn to look at him, the words pour out of my mouth without any rhyme or reason, making me sound—and feel—like a jerk.
Jaxon inclines his head, lifts a brow. “So it is taken, then?”
Forget sounding like a jerk. I am a jerk. “No! I mean, yes. I mean…” I stop, take a deep breath, and then blow it out slowly. “The seat isn’t taken. You can sit down if you’d like.”
“I would like.” He grabs the chair and turns it around so that when he drops down into it, he’s facing the back of the chair, one elbow draped negligently over the top.
It’s a completely ridiculous way to sit, especially on a chair this elegant…but it’s also superhot. And it’s pretty much been my kryptonite since Moises de la Cruz did it at a pool party when we were in seventh grade.
What can I say? I’m weak.
Guess I’m not the only weak one, though, because Macy makes another choked sound as she stares behind me—this one worse than the last. I tear my eyes away from Jaxon long enough to make sure that sip of coffee isn’t actually killing her. Thankfully, it’s not, but the fact that the other members of the Order are currently settling themselves down at the table with us just might.
“How’s your ankle?” Jaxon asks, his dark gaze sliding over me in what I know is concern but what feels a little like a caress.
“Better. Thanks for…yesterday.”
“Which part?” The crooked grin is back, and this time when he looks me over, it feels a lot like a caress.
But just because I’m flustered doesn’t mean I’m a pushover. “The waffles. Obviously.”
One of the members of the Order snorts at my answer, then darts a quick look at Jaxon as he tries to smother the sound. Jaxon just kind of rolls his eyes, though, and gives a little nod in his direction. Which makes the guy laugh again and has the added effect of relaxing all the other guys as well.
“Obviously.” He shakes his head, looks away. But his smile doesn’t fade. “So you’re planning on going to class today.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway. “Yeah. It’s time.”
He nods like he knows what I’m talking about. “What’s your first period?”
“I don’t remember.” I pull the blue schedule Uncle Finn gave me from my jacket pocket. “Looks like Brit Lit with Maclean.”