How do you like your coffee?
EC: On time.
Then stop wasting mine. What will you have?
EC: I’ll take a triple shot espresso with lots of sugar and cream and a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg.
What the hell are we doing that constitutes that kind of caffeine buzz? Or are you in need of a substitute for testosterone due to that need for a cinnamon and nutmeg dash?
EC: I know you’re adjusting to the time change, Austin, but your Seattle time ran out two minutes ago.
Ten agonizing minutes later, I walk out of the hotel without a single trace of makeup, looking like a freshly laundered poodle with pink eye. Balancing the beverage tray with Joel’s man coffee and Easton’s girly drink, I tighten my small backpack on my shoulder as I spot the celebrity-typical idling SUV with blacked-out windows.
Joel pops out as I near and opens the back door for me as I pluck out and extend his coffee his way. He thanks me as I slide in, keeping my gaze averted, embarrassment already coating my neck. Aware we’re all our own harshest critics, I still need a few confidence-boosting steps to feel comfortable, especially when attempting to go all-natural. I had no time for any of those.
“You really expect me to take you seriously as a reporter?” Easton chides as I thrust his apology espresso towards him.
“We’re off record today, remember?”
He refuses the piping hot offering in my hand, and I look over to him to see his gaze fixed on my hair just as he reaches up and rubs one of my curls between his fingers. “I like it like this.”
“Clean?”
“Natural,” he says, taking his coffee as a tinge of exhilaration shoots up my spine.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am.”
“Well, thanks, but that makes one of us. I guess I’m glad you’re not embarrassed to be seen with a human poodle since all-natural seems to be the running theme of this trip because I can’t seem to get acclimated to a simple two-hour fucking time difference.”
He smirks before sipping his liquid crack as I take a tug on my own.
“I’m sorry, Easton. I forgot to set my alarm after you texted and fell asleep reading.”
“Is that why your eyes are so red?”
“No, they’re red because I’ve been crying over your mistreatment of me,” I quip.
A loud chuckle escapes Joel from where he sits in the driver’s seat. I catch his eyes in the rearview, flashing him a smile before turning back to Easton, who’s not quite as amused. “Okay, so what’s with the butt crack of dawn wakeup call?”
“How we doing on time, Joel?” Easton asks, ignoring my question.
“You’ll only have about an hour once we get there,” Joel replies.
Easton scowls in response at me. “Thanks to Goldilocks here.”
“I’m sorry, man. Geesh. How many apologies do you need? And where is the fire so early?”
It’s then I scan his dress. He’s in snug jeans and a mesh, black, long sleeve shirt with black boots. His raven hair tucked behind his ears catching a ray of sunlight, thanks to the morning sky.
Great, sun rays follow him wherever he goes, amplifying his hotness tenfold, and I don’t even have my eyebrows shaded on. It’s a good thing this isn’t a date because he’s far too damned good-looking for me to handle in this state of disarray. The upside is, graced with the three hours of sleep I managed and my escalating coffee buzz, I don’t feel nearly as terrified as I was yesterday. Easton’s somehow put me at ease even while giving me shit. I again study his all-black dress and decide to grill him about our destination.
“Are we going to rob someone? If so, am I an accomplice? Because I’m not properly dressed, nor armed.”
“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Easton says as if it’s a fact.
I narrow my eyes. “Assumptions make most people assholes, but you already have that market cornered, don’t you?” I widen my red eyes as Joel audibly snorts.
“I said wouldn’t, not couldn’t,” Easton mutters dryly, giving Joel a warning look in the rearview. Joel doesn’t so much as flinch. They’re close, from the looks of it—really close, and Joel seems to be on Team Natalie today.
Take that, gorgeous man with visible eyebrows.
“Once again, I must insist on asking. Where are we headed to, Mr. Crowne?”
“Patience,” he says, kicking back in his seat and crossing a booted foot over his knee before speaking up to Joel. “Hey man, give me something.” Seconds later, loud bass fills the car, a song I’ve never heard thrumming throughout as Easton stares out the window.