Nothing But Trouble (Malibu University Series)(17)

Howard stops short and his hipster haircut, a blond shellacked wave of hair, sways. He takes a good hard look at my injured leg then slips behind the counter and starts cleaning out the multiple coffee machines lined up against the wall.

“I need someone that can actually do physical labor,” he tells me in a flat tone, not bothering to give me his undivided attention as he dumps used coffee grounds into the trash.

A marked heavy pause happens. Instigated by me. Because what’s there to argue? He’s right. How am I supposed to maneuver on crutches behind the bar with three other baristas? Impossible. Not to mention this place is always wall-to-wall packed with customers.

“Let me get your check.” Without waiting for a response, he walks away, toward the back office.

Standing behind the counter at the cash register, Josie, the girl I usually work with, gives me a sympathetic smile as she hands the surfer dude picking up his four megabeverages his change.

“How are you, Alice?”

My entire life is on the precipice of destruction. That’s the ugly truth about poverty. Even when you have a job, you’re only a paycheck away from total annihilation. The anxiety never goes away.

I’m legit about to start hyperventilating when Peg’s words come back to me. “Take life with a grain of sugar, Alice.” It’s a marvel how she always manages to see the glass as half full, despite her personal experiences.

“Wonderful. You?”

“I’m working a double.” Looking put out, she shrugs. Josie’s the type to stand around picking away at her lilac gel nail polish rather than do a minute’s worth of work. I don’t mind Josie. She’s not a bad person. I just won’t miss working with her.

Gaze aimed at someone beyond my shoulder, her eyes stop blinking. She sweeps away a stray corkscrew curl and performs a quick inspection of her nails. That and the fire-engine red flush makes me think it’s a boy she likes.

“Rea, get me an extra large with a triple shot,” an unfamiliar male voice yells over the others. I may not know the voice but I do recognize the name.

With as much nonchalance as I can marshal, which isn’t very much at all, I glance over my shoulder and find Reagan Reynolds parting the crowd in the coffee shop. And he’s headed straight this way.

Necks start snapping in his direction. “Reaaa, great match last weekend,” unfamiliar voices call out.

“Thanks, dude,” I hear a couple of times. He drags most of the attention in the place with him.

I turn my back, curl my shoulders inward, pray he doesn’t see me.

Howard returns, holding up an envelope. “Look me up after the ankle’s healed,” he offers. “If I haven’t filled the position, I’ll take you back.”

Hard to believe when there’s zero sympathy anywhere to be found in his expression. Besides, with campus only a mile away it’s unlikely this job will be here in the next thirty minutes let alone in six weeks. Plenty of able bodies around to fill my shoes.

“I had to dock your last check for the three days you called out sick.” He hands it over.

I take it from him with a heavy heart. I’ve finally hit bottom. There’s my sugar. My day can’t get any worse. I’ve officially lost my only source of income and I can’t even call my parents because they will stress, and in turn, I’ll stress even more.

A whiff of chlorine and laundry detergent tickles my nose. As I’m rubbing it, the sudden, obvious presence of a tall person standing much too close for comfort draws my attention to the left and up, up, up. Where I’m met by a set of blazing green eyes staring back at me. My attention falls to lips molded into a sulky frown.

My day just got worse.

“What?” is the only thing I can think to say under scrutiny so intense it could strip paint off a car.

“Hi, Reagan,” Josie says a bit too loudly, compelling both of us to glance her way.

“Hi, Josie,” he returns with a crooked smile.

My gaze skips between the two of them. Then takes a full lap around the joint to find a stifling amount of attention––mostly female––attached to the guy standing next to me.

Spare me. Fine, okay, he’s hot. No question. And maybe if my life wasn’t crumbling around me, I would be trying to stuff my panties in his mouth the same way Josie is clearly thinking about doing.

But these girls? I’m just going to say it––some of them look concussed. Josie included. I am almost one hundred percent certain I’ve never worn a concussed look over a boy and if I ever do somebody needs to slap me.

“Rea! Call me so we can make plans,” one of the glamour girls sitting in the corner shouts. She’s so perfect she looks Photoshopped.

Delete. Delete my prior claim. This guy is way out of my league. The only way my panties would ever get near his face is if he had a gushing head wound and I needed to stop the bleeding to save his life.

He gives Photoshopped girl an absent nod and returns to bore holes in my head with his hot stare. “You lost your job?” he asks with unmistakable concern in his voice.

It’s my turn to frown. “Were you eavesdropping?” The guilty look he gives me is all the answer I need. “Great.”

Now that my humiliation is complete, it’s time for a speedy departure. I hobble away from the counter, last paycheck firmly grasped in one hand, and push through a wall of guys. Members of the soccer team, judging by the uniforms. The inconsiderate jerks barely make room for the girl on crutches. I head for the exit with Reynolds on my heels.