aware of that, as well. He argues that even if I do get back up after three months, my reputation might be permanently damaged unless I can get everything repaired as soon as possible. I’m not swayed. I’m going dark for three months.
Hopefully, this will all be sorted by then … whatever “this” is.
*
It’s not my day to be at the shop, but I want the distraction. I can’t sit at the house, staring out the window, waiting for Laura to wander out of the forest.
Sandy lights up when she sees Murphy and I walk in.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, steaming a cappuccino.
“Wanted to help out.”
She motions to the growing line of customers. “Have at it.”
I hop behind the counter. Murphy retreats to his bed near the register. Instantly, he starts to receive the fawning attention he is accustomed to. I always know when someone is petting him because I can hear his tail thumping on the floor.
I go about taking orders, changing filters, and unloading the small dishwasher behind the counter. I’m good for a while, but as the day drags on, it becomes painfully obvious that I’m off my game. I can’t keep the image of Laura out of my head.
It can’t be her. It’s not possible.
“So, that was one chai latte, a caramel mocha, and an iced tea?” I ask, repeating an order to a customer.
The old lady blinks at me from behind her thick glasses. “No. It was a regular latte for me, and a hot chocolate for my husband.”
“I had the chai latte,” the guy in front of her says.
“I had a hot tea, but not an iced tea,” the lady behind the old woman chimes in.
I shake my head. “Right, right, right. Sorry. My bad.”
I turn to start correcting my mistakes and notice that Sandy is looking at me.
“You all right, boss?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Just not firing on all cylinders today.”
She’s slow to look away, but is forced to when she hands change to a customer.
I whip up the latte, steam the milk for the hot chocolate, and hand it to the guy.
“Here you go,” I say. “Latte and a hot chocolate.”
“Nope,” he says, and points to the old lady behind him, who’s looking at me like I’m crazy.
I curse under my breath. “Sorry. Here’s your latte and your hot—
“—chocolate,” the barista said, handing the Styrofoam cup to Laura. I was already putting cream and sugar in my coffee at the station next to the counter.
We found a small table at the back of the coffee shop, which was located on Franklin Street, next to Wilton University’s campus.
“I can’t believe you’re drinking coffee at eight o’clock in the evening,” Laura said, sliding into the seat. “You’re gonna be up all night.”
“Then so will you,” I replied with my best roguish smile.
She blushed, and took a long sip from her hot chocolate.
Afterwards, we took our time and simply wandered through Rutland. We strolled down Merchants Row, laughing at the drunken students staggering out of the different bars. The conversation flowed, but there was the tension of who would be the first to say it—a tension that grew as it got later.
“So, where to?” I asked.
“My roommate is visiting her parents. Sooooo … back to my place?”
From that moment on, we knew where the evening was heading. We didn’t say much else, and I tried to not quicken my stride in anticipation. It was a little corny going back to her dorm room, but those blue eyes and red hair wiped away any reservations I had.
We arrived at the door to her dorm, and she swiped the key card over the sensor. There was a buzzing and the lock clicked. She pulled the door open, and we entered the foyer. She quickly led me off to the right, down a short hallway, and into the stairwell. As we reached the first landing, I wrapped my arm around her waist. She turned to face me and we kissed. We staggered against the wall. Our hands were everywhere, and we fought to balance our kissing with the need to breathe. A door opened somewhere above us. We tried to separate, but it was useless. A mousy brunette descended the stairs and walked past.
“Get a room,” she muttered.
“Almost there!” Laura laughed.
The brunette rolled her eyes at us. Laura flipped her the bird. I laughed into the nape of her neck. She gave me one more kiss and took my hand.
“Come on,” she said, pulling me up the stairs.
We came out into the third-floor hallway. It was lit by harsh halogen lamps. She gave me a quick glance over her shoulder as she moved from one pool of light to another. Every step was foreplay. I was hypnotized by the sway of her hips and the bouncing curls of her hair.
We passed door after door. Mounted on the wall next to each one was a small whiteboard. Some of the whiteboards had messages written on them. Most were short, telling the occupant how awesome they were. Others had funny quotes. I glimpsed one as I passed that read, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. ~ Romans 15:13”. Under which, someone had written, “God don’t give a shit.”
We arrived at the door marked #317. She took out a key, slid it into the lock, twisted, and pushed it open.
Upon first glance, it was the model of your typical college dorm. There was that invisible line that ran down the center of the room, dividing it in half. The left half had a total “emo” motif, with posters for The Misfits and My Chemical Romance on the walls. The other side was more standard and subdued, except for the large poster of Jesus on the wall next to the bed. He was ascending to Heaven from the cross, surrounded by angels. It sucked all the attention from the room, so much so that I forgot about my erection.
“Um … okay … Which side is yours?”
“Guess.”
I pointed to the “emo” side. “This one?”
“Nope.”
“Seriously?” I asked, fixated on the Jesus poster.
“Yeah. I know it’s a little much, but it’s only in case my mom makes a surprise visit.”
“Does that happen often?”
“She insists on keeping tabs on me.”
Hooking up was still in the cards, but I felt that we had taken a detour and I was intrigued.
“So,
