You're to Blame(13)

All the tables are empty, but she chooses the back-corner booth. Maybe she’s embarrassed to be seen with me. Charlotte wouldn’t be the first person. Hell, my asshole parents used to request the back room at the country club to ensure no one saw their disobedient, roughneck son.

“Do you always do that?” Her voice is soft with a hint of curiosity.

“Leave a tip?” I ask. “Whenever I can. I don’t need the change, but they might.”

“You’re not anything like I imagined. I mean, you have a reputation for sleeping around; and you’re a member of a fraternity you barely tolerate, but they still allow you to stay. There’s a rumor you did two years in a juvenile detention center, but something tells me there’s more to you than anyone else knows.”

I immediately still under the weight of Charlotte’s hopes for who she believes I am. There isn’t more to me than that. I’m no one special. The way Charlotte’s eyes turn to molten when she looks at me makes me believe maybe there is.

“I have my days of good, but don’t we all?” The coffee burns my throat, and I sit the cup on the table.

My reputation follows me around like thick sludge on my boots. Once again, I’m never going to receive a golden medal for sainthood. Few of the rumors are actually true. I am an asshole. I do fuck a lot, without apology, and always with protection. If that’s the worst things I’ve ever done, then it’s safe to say I can die a decent human being.

“It’s just you tend to walk around with a chip on your shoulder. You’re sort of hard to approach, Duke,” Charlotte says. Her words are blunt but tortured, as if she hopes her accusation is wrong. She fiddles with the two stirrers, dipping the ends in her coffee, then popping them into her mouth several times. Her lips are pink and plump, the black straws a daunting contrast when rubbed up against them. They’re soft, and I wonder what they’d feel like against mine.

“Will you quit?” I beg.

“Quit what?” Charlotte questions, dipping the ends in the coffee once more. Her tongue twists along the plastic. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Put me out of my misery.

“That!” I point to the straws dangling from her lips. “Quit doing that!”

“This bothers you?” She holds back her laughter, but I can still hear the sweet tune, like music on a late night under the stars.

“Let me teach you something, Charlotte.” I yank them from her lips. “When you’re sitting in front of any red-blooded, straight man, don’t suck on a straw. It automatically makes us think of your lips wrapped around our cock.”

Charlotte’s chest rises and falls, rhythmically telling a story I shouldn’t want to read, but she makes me want to peel back each page and devour every word.

“Oh.” Her lips form a perfect, pink circle. She cups her coffee in her hands. “What did you need to talk about?” she asks, quick to change the subject, but my attention remains on her distracting lips.

“Decaf coffee, huh?” I flick the rim of her cup, pulling myself from the smoothness of the skin on her face and back into the conversation. “What a waste. If you’re going to drink it, you have to drink the real shit.”

“No offense, Duke, but we aren’t exactly besties about to braid each other’s hair.” She leans back into the upholstered booth, crossing her arms over her chest.

Well, shit, didn’t see that coming. Maybe the girl has a little more snark inside her tiny body than I thought. I wonder what else I can bring out of her.

“You’re right.” I stall, taking a few small sips of the piping hot liquid. “With everything going on with Jacob, I figured I’d check in on you. It’s what he’d want, and it didn’t occur to me until last night. He’d hate to think you were going through this all alone.” Not a complete lie, but still a bag of bullshit.

“You sure that’s what he’d want?” Charlotte’s chin dips to her chest, and her posture goes slack. She’s keeping herself together as best as she can. I can’t imagine what she’s feeling right now. Her boyfriend is in a coma. She’s helpless. I imagine that’s not a good feeling.

“I’d think so.” The tension in my shoulders climbs to behind my eyes. “You know him better than I do.”

“Sometimes you think you know someone, and you don’t.” Her thumb brushes the lid on her coffee.

My body temperature rises at the change of course of our conversation. Charlotte’s rambling and distant glance speaks volumes. She’s unsure.

“Are we still talking about the same thing?” I ask.

Charlotte’s eyes pop wide at my question. “Ignore me. My mind’s all over the place.”

Her hand covers her throat, and she shakes her head, clearing her mind. “If I’m being honest, I don’t know what to say, Duke. I’m not necessarily alone through all this, but I appreciate the gesture.” She smooths the front of her blouse.

“I know we aren’t friends, but maybe we can be,” I whisper. It’s a strange request. Charlotte’s flat smile proves I’ve made a mistake. “Forget I said anything.” I go to stand.

“Wait, Duke.” The warmth from Charlotte’s hand on mine halts my escape. “Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Us, being friends.”