Natalie
“I need coffee,” I moan, feeling blurry-eyed as Zara and I set out across campus. “Please tell me we have time to stop.” I didn’t sleep well last night. All I could think about was the ridiculous situation with Brody that I’ve become embroiled in. It’s frightening how quickly it’s taken on a life of its own. Clearly, it needs to be snuffed out before it grows any larger.
Zara glances at her phone. “As long as there isn’t a huge line, we should be fine.”
We stop at Java House, a coffee shop in the middle of campus. As I open the door and step inside, I’m not surprised to find a longer-than-usual line. My guess is that everyone is still hungover from the weekend and needs a little extra shot of caffeine to jumpstart their Monday morning.
I may not be hungover, but I feel the same pain.
A few customers glance our way, some doing double takes as a wave of murmurs moves through the crowd. Uncomfortable with the amount of attention I’m drawing, I pause over the threshold, causing Zara to slam into my back.
“What the hell, Nat?” she grumbles in irritation.
“Sorry.” Ignoring the looks and hushed voices, I step inside the shop and take my place in line. I do a quick count. Looks like there are seven customers ahead of us.
“I don’t know if we have time for this.” Zara murmurs, glancing at her phone again. “We’re cutting it close, and I can’t afford to be late.”
I bounce on the balls of my feet, jonesing for a caramel mocha. “I’m not sure I can make it through the next hour without some help.” I need caffeinated fortitude in order to deal with Brody and the situation that is spiraling out of control.
Not wanting to acknowledge the looks aimed in our direction, I stare straight ahead. I’d told myself that what happened with Brody would blow over. In the grand scheme of things—war, politics, world hunger, disease—this isn’t a big deal. But still, the rumor that Brody and I are now Whitmore’s golden couple has spread like wildfire across social media in less than forty-eight hours.
Zara leans in close to my ear. “Is it my imagination or are these people staring at you?”
It’s not her imagination. I can literally feel eyes crawling over me. For someone who enjoys her anonymity, it’s a strange sensation. “It’s your imagination.”
“I don’t think so.” She sounds perplexed. “How are you not noticing this? It’s even making me uncomfortable.”
“No one is paying attention to us,” I repeat. “It’s a normal Monday morning. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening.” It’s like I’m reading from a script that I’m unwilling to deviate from.
She snickers. “Oh, sweetie, are you hoping if you say it enough times, it’ll be true?”
“That’s the plan,” I admit tightly. “And so far, it’s working.” Not really. I noticed people staring as soon as I stepped onto campus ten minutes ago. A few even waved and said hi like we knew each other. The first time it happened, I actually swung around and glanced behind me figuring the greeting was meant for someone else. But there wasn’t anyone there.
Creepy.
“Well, this should be interesting,” Zara murmurs under her breath.
We’re still four deep when a barista yells, “Extra-large caramel mocha with extra whip for Natalie.”
With a frown, I glance at Zara from the corner of my eye. Then I look around the tiny shop waiting for someone with the same name to grab the drink I was planning to order. Thirty seconds tick by and the cup remains unclaimed on the counter.
Looking straight at me, the barista enunciates the order with more care.
Zara nudges my arm with her elbow. “Okay, this is going to sound strange, but I think she’s talking to you.”
That’s not possible. I haven’t made it to the counter yet. “It can’t be mine.”
“I know, but—”
“Natalie?” Again, the girl snags my surprised gaze. “Your name is Natalie, right?”
I jerk my head in the affirmative.
Again, she talks all slow-like. “You’re dating Brody McKinnon?”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Seriously?
“Ummm…” How am I supposed to respond to that question? I am most definitely not dating Brody. This entire fake-dating fiasco is a gigantic mix-up. One that needs to be rectified ASAP.
“Yep, that’s her.” Zara grabs my hand and forcibly drags me to the front of the line. More people turn to stare.
The barista beams as she hands over the coffee with a flourish. “This is what you usually order, right?”
“Ummm…” I’m confused. What’s happening here?
“Yup,” Zara supplies in my silence. “It is. Extra-grande and whip. Just the way she likes it.”
“I thought so. You’re a regular here.” She leans toward me and whispers, “I’ll have it waiting for you every day at quarter to ten.”
When I continue staring in befuddlement, Zara jabs me in the ribs with her elbow and whispers under her breath with a smile, “Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” I mumble like an idiot.
“You’re welcome. Just let McKinnon know that we absolutely love him here at Java House.” The way she says “love” makes it sound more like loooooove.
“We’ll definitely do that. Your support is appreciated.” Zara pumps her fist in the air. “Go Wildcats!” Then she leans across the counter and asks, “So…any chance I can get a frap with no whip?”
“Of course, coming right up!”
With a delighted grin lighting up her face, Zara turns back to me. I’m sure my expression is more what-the-fuck-was-that. I frantically shake my head at her.
“This is freaking awesome!” she whispers giddily.
Finding my voice, I mutter, “This is weird! I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
Less than two minutes later, the barista is back. “Here you go! Frappuccino with no whip.”
Thrown off by the whole bizarre exchange, I dig through my pocket for cash and pull out a few folded-up bills. “How much do we owe you?”
She takes a step away from the counter, holds her hands up, and shakes her head. “Don’t worry. It’s on the house.”
“What? No!” My eyes slide to Zara, silently begging her to back me up on this. “We can’t accept these drinks without paying for them.”
“Are you kidding? Of course, we can!” Zara interrupts. When she elbows me for a third time, I glare. There’s a perma-grin plastered across her face that makes her look slightly manic. Okay, it’s more than slightly. “Thank the nice girl again and let’s get to class before we’re late.”
I don’t have the chance to argue because Zara pulls me away from the counter. Before I get too far, I stuff the wadded-up bills into the tip jar. I can’t just not pay these people. It would be wrong. I feel bad enough for cutting in front of the customers who were already waiting in line.
I stumble out of the shop and grind to a halt. “What the hell was that?”
Zara grins and takes a sip of her drink. She closes her eyes and sighs with exaggeration. “That, my love, is one of the many perks of dating Brody McKinnon. And you know what? I love it. Dare I say that the coffee tastes a little better because of it?” She squeals. “All right, I dare. It tastes so much better.” Her eyes dance. “Told you this wasn’t going to blow over anytime soon.”
I hate to admit it, but Zara might be right. Which means that I need to speak with Brody immediately. This farce needs to end before it spins any further out of control