CHAPTER 2 Iron Triad Member Number Three
Tori POV
I grab the box and head to the counter, pouring an absurd amount of chocolate puffs into a bowl and drowning them in chocolate milk.
"I went out," I say, lifting my bowl.
"Wow. Thank you for that detailed answer." Alicia's words drip with sarcasm. It's our default, the glue that makes us bond as roommates. She gets it. I get it. But that doesn't mean I enjoy being on the receiving end of it.
I scoot the chair back, the legs screeching in protest across the seventies-patterned linoleum. Sitting, I drop my bowl on our small, round, red table and shovel a spoonful of chocolatey goodness into my mouth. "I'll give you one guess."
Alicia finally looks up, intrigued. "Another failure?"
"Another failure." I sigh, refusing to say his name.
Admitting that I'd expected another disappointment would only make it worse.
"I'm telling you, you need a professional." She leans back, crossing her fishnet-covered legs beneath her Lolita-blue dress and black corset.
"I'm not sleeping with a sex worker," I groan, bending over my bowl.
"That's not what I mean." Alicia wrinkles her freckled nose, waving a dismissive hand. "I mean, find someone super experienced. Like, someone who knows what they're doing."
I get it. I'd known one once. That's why I'm in this mess.
"And how exactly do I find that?" I arch a brow.
"I know people." She taps her phone, as if the solution is just a text away.
"Nope. Absolutely not." I shake my head so hard the room spins. Her guys are into kinks that are way out of my comfort zone. "I'm not wearing a tail."
"You're missing out." She shrugs, attention already drifting back to her screen.
"I'll let you be the judge of that, 'cause I'm never finding out." I make an exaggerated X with my arms. "It's a hard no from me."
"Don't knock it 'til you try it. Anyway, you better hurry or you'll miss your bus again."
"Shit." Milk dribbles down my chin as I curse, realizing I've still got a mouthful of cereal. Grabbing one of the disposable toothbrushes I bought yesterday, I brush, darting around the tiniest two-bedroom apartment ever built.
I throw on my black tube top and green cargo pants and race to the bus stop outside our complex just as the bus doors open. Panting, I adjust my bag on my shoulder. Can't be late for work again.
I swipe my card and grab a dangling handlebar, giving up on finding a seat. The morning commute is always packed- everyone in the neighborhood seems to be on the same schedule.
I miss my car.
It takes a total of five stops, twenty more people, and too many minutes for me to arrive at my destination. I almost miss my stop as I try to squeeze through the mass of passengers, barely stepping out as the doors close, nearly catching the ends of my auburn hair.
I stand on the sidewalk, taking a moment to breathe. The crush of bodies in that sardine can of a bus had left my skin crawling and my nerves shot. A few deep inhales later, when I'm sure my brain can tolerate human interaction again, I turn and head toward the café.
"Cutting it close!" Shawn's voice greets me the moment I push through the door. He's at the counter, tapping his watch with exaggerated flair.
I glance at mine. Two minutes to spare. Of course. "Sorry!" I call over my shoulder, hurrying to the employee room. The baggy green shirt in my bag is wrinkled but passable as I pull it on and clip my golden name tag in place. It still reads Victoria, despite my repeated requests for Tori. Months, and they still can't be bothered.
Grabbing my visor, I hold it between my teeth as I tie my hair back and rush behind the counter. Maci is already waiting, handing me the headset with a smirk. "Showtime."
I slip it on, and my day begins. Order after order streams in, each one more absurd than the last, courtesy of people who watch too many one-minute drink tutorials.
"Thank you for choosing Java Jive, where we put more effort into our coffee than our small talk," I deadpan, bracing for the reaction on the other end of the line.
There's silence- long enough for me to wonder if the connection's dropped- before a voice so rich, so delicious, fills my ear and makes my knees lock.
"I'm not sure I like that," the voice says, smooth as velvet. "If the effort for small talk is that low, I can't imagine how much- or how little- goes into the coffee."
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I'm stuck in a loop, trying to think of a witty reply. Instead, I settle for the professional route. "What can I get started for you today?"
"A small black coffee," he begins, then pauses, presumably to confer with someone. "And a medium caramel frappe?" His tone is hesitant, like he's questioning the very existence of frappes.
"That everything?" I ask, biting back the urge to add, You sure about that?
"That's it."
"Great. Please pull up to the window."
As I start on the order, my hands betray me, shaking like I've chugged a pot of espresso. Caramel dribbles down the side of the frappe cup instead of inside it.
Maci steps in, fixing my mess with a dramatic eye-roll. "What is wrong with you?" she whispers, but I don't answer. My heart is pounding as I step to the window, anticipation fizzing under my skin.
The truck rolls up- black, imposing, with windows tinted so dark it's like staring into a void. The driver's window slides down achingly slow, revealing a face that hits me like a punch to the gut.
Him.
You've got to be fucking kidding me! Thorne Harrow- my high school bully, and the last member of the Iron Triad.
What hits me harder than the sight of him is the girl beside him. Sadie Gray. My ex-best friend.
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