He shuffles me onto his bike and puts my box of food in his motorcycle trunk. We haven’t said one word to one another, and with his bike flying down the road, there’s no way that we can talk now either.
When he misses the turn for us to head back to campus, I’m almost not surprised. He pulls up to a coffee shop instead, whichdoessurprise me.
“You’re upset over something, clearly, and this place has banging cinnamon rolls,” he says. “Come on. My treat.”
“You don’t have to,” I protest.
But I climb off. He does, too, and he offers me a wink.
“Don’t worry. I’m just using you as an excuse to get one for myself.”
“You can have one, and I can have. Bite of yours. Maybe. I’m not really hungry.”
“I bet they have something with chocolate if you prefer that.”
My smile has to be so tiny it’s almost invisible. ‘My best friend Erika likes to say that chocolate makes everything better.”
“Erika? Do I know her?”
“She doesn’t go here,” I explain.
“Hmm. High school best friend?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s get you inside,” he says gently.
Ace barely has his fingertips touch my lower back as he guides me to the door. He opens it for me, and I almost make a crack about him being a gentleman, but we're already inside, so it's too late now.
He gestures toward the only empty booth in the place. There aren't a lot of empty tables, the coffee shop small, but the line is long, which makes me think this place has a good reputation.
We're too far away from the diner for this to be the place where Rob and the waitress, who I begrudgingly like now, are going to come to.
Gah, I really don’t want to think about them coming.
“Here we go,” Ace says, coming over with a tray, perfectly balancing two massive cinnamon rolls, an enormous slice of chocolate cake with peanut butter icing, and two huge cups.
“What is all this?”
“For you. Well, not all of it. One coffee for me, one for you, one cinnamon roll for you, one for me—”
“We could’ve split it and bypassed the cake!”
“Come on. You don’t want that cake? Look at it!”
I want to smile, but I can’t.
He takes his coffee and cinnamon roll off the ray and passes the tray over to me. “Enjoy.”
I hesitate.
“From the weight of food in that box, I take it you didn’t eat much of your dinner.”
“Which means I shouldn’t have dessert.”
“Who’s gonna rat you out and to who? Your parents? Come on, now. You’re eighteen. You can do what you want. Live a little.”
“You’re a terrible influence.”