揋oddamn, little girl,?I whisper through clenched teeth. 揋et it all out right here. Come with all the ways I抳e screwed you up. Come for me.?
And she does it so beautifully it hurts me to the bone.
It takes all the strength I have to let her fall against my lap for the last ten minutes back to my place. Somehow, I settle her on my lap, flicking her skirt back down, holding her still in my arms.
揂s pleasant as that was, I need an answer,?I whisper.
揑 trust you.?
揧ou can抰 change your mind if we get into another fight or even break up,?I warn, tilting her chin up with the same two fingers that were just inside her.
Her smile looks like it was stolen from a dream. 揅ole, if I抦 fighting with you…why would I want you to stay with me??
揑抣l have security bring you home for those times I piss you off,?I growl. 揃ecause I will, sooner or later, like the demented water buffalo I am.?
She laughs and I can抰 help but smile. 揑f you ever fight with me again like that, you抮e not going to have to worry about what happens.?
揥hy??
揃ecause I抣l string you up like a pi馻ta. A big water buffalo pi馻ta full of chocolate-covered espresso beans.?Her tongue flicks out, teasing and so tempting to bite.
揃ig talk, brat. I抣l take that as a sign you can handle a little tough love tonight,?I rasp, devouring her with another kiss that takes my whole soul.
19
Storm In A Cup （Eliza）
揥e抮e gonna need another batch of those kick-ass pastries梩hey抮e flying!?Meadow says with a toothy smile.
揘o problem, we抳e got a whole stash.?I reach under the table, pull out a second tray, and place it on top.
揥oo-hoo, you rock!?She flashes me a thumbs-up.
揘ah, thank Cole for letting me use Wired Cup抯 test kitchen to whip these babies up. It抯 easy to make enough to feed an army棓
揙r at least a homeless camp.?Meadow peels the foil off the new tray, inhaling the sweet scent with an appreciative grin.
I love her excitement, how genuine it is knowing she was once on the streets herself.
Then I go to work, filling row after row of disposable cups with piping hot coffee and placing them on the table beside the pastries.
My phone dings and I pull it out.
揑s that your pastry daddy??Meadow asks with a wink.
揢m…？My face heats as I glance at the screen and shake my head. 揑t抯 Destiny, actually.?
揘ice! Don抰 tell me she抯 canceling on us??
揝he抣l be here, I抦 sure.?I tap the screen and pull up the text.
Destiny: I抦 on my way now. Leaving the library. I抦 walking so it抣l be a few.
I type back, Meadow and Wyatt can handle things here for a minute. Why don抰 I come pick you up?
Destiny: No, it抯 cool. I抳e already gone two blocks. Oh and I抦 stopping off at Sweeter Grind. The cinnamon lattes there are bussin. Let me know if you want anything.
Eliza: Traitor. Don抰 let your dad see or he抣l kill you. I add a skull emoji.
Destiny: Not if he doesn抰 know. She punctuates that with a wink emoji.
Laughing, I drop my phone back in my pocket.
揥ell??Meadow asks.
揝he抯 on her way now.?I return to dutifully filling up coffee cups.
We work through the next big rush until the line clears. As always, the traffic comes in waves. So do the donors who just want a treat and they抮e happy to throw down a twenty for a good cause.
揥hew, I抦 working up a sweat. Must be twice as many people as last week,?she says.
揥oof, you抮e right. Huge crowd.?Something bothers me, though, and it抯 not just the relentless stream of hungry people. I stand on my toes, looking for Destiny抯 head. 揌ey, Meadow, how long do you think that last rush was??
揇unno. Maybe a good twenty minutes??
I take my phone out again to check the time.
Yikes.
It抯 been almost an hour since Destiny texted me.
It shouldn抰 take that long to get to Sweeter Grind; it抯 just down the street. The walk itself, well under half an hour.
Shit.
I call her. It rings seven times and goes to voicemail.
Destiny, where are you? I text.
When she doesn抰 respond in five agonizing minutes, I try again. Hey, just checking in, are you almost here?
No response.
I抦 feeling sicker by the minute, my mind hurtling into overdrive.
Ten minutes later, after I抳e imagined Destiny kidnapped and thrown in someone抯 trunk, hanging out with switchblade-wielding gangsters in some back alley, being forced to cook meth, and a dozen other horror scenarios, I decide to text her again.
Dess, I抦 not upset if you抮e late. I just need to know you抮e okay, I send.
Another five minutes of dead air.
Don抰 freak. She抯 probably fine, I tell myself. She抯 probably just so into her coffee trip and phone that she lost track of time. Maybe she even ran into a kid from school…