Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,29
going with Misha because I won’t let her go to a foreign country alone.”
Jake looks down at me and grins. “Are you sure you want me to go with you?”
With a sigh, I shrug. “I guess you’ll do.”
Jake grins. “Then, let’s go on vacation.”
“Thank you!” I jump up and hug him.
Jake laughs at my reaction, and Drew gags from the bathtub.
“Oh, hush,” I tell Drew. “I need to go over and check on my pies, and I have a cake to decorate. I’ll come over in the morning.”
“If I’m still alive,” he huffs from the tub.
“You’ll be fine. Love you.” I kiss the top of his head, and Jake and I leave him to his oatmeal bath.
After I lock up Drew’s apartment, Jake stops in the hall. “I’m going to head out, so I can make sure everything is good at the coffee house before we leave.”
“Are you sure you’re okay to go along? Be honest. I don’t want you to feel guilted into going.”
“The only thing I feel guilty about is not paying. I’ll definitely find a way to pay Drew back for this. I have some things to take care of before leaving, but I’m excited to go with you.”
“Good, because I’m really excited you’re coming with me. Thank you.”
“And thank you. Good night.”
I watch him as he walks away, thinking about what the next week is about to bring. He glances over his shoulder after taking a few stairs, and I’m caught gawking at him. He smiles knowingly.
“Misha, what does HAF J mean?”
“Uh …” My brain can’t come up with a quick answer to bail Drew out of his nickname for Jake, and I panic. “Gotta check on my pies. Bye!” I run into my apartment like a coward.
Less than thirty seconds later, my text notification pings.
Jake: I will get it out of you …
Damn it, Drew.
With the number of red bumps on his face, Drew looks more like a teenager with a terrible case of acne rather than a man in his late twenties with chicken pox.
“Stop scratching them. It will make it worse,” I scold him.
He sits at my kitchen table, blotting calamine lotion on his arms with a cotton ball. “I can’t help it. They itch like crazy. How am I supposed to put the lotion on my back when you’re gone?” he whines.
“Aw, poor baby. If you hadn’t bailed on me, I’d be able to put lotion on your back.”
He props his foot onto the chair, dabbing the spots on his leg. “If I hadn’t bailed on you, you wouldn’t be spending a week alone with HAF J.”
“Oh, thanks for calling him that to his face last night. He wants to know what it means.”
He shrugs. “Why not tell him?”
“Because … it’s not polite.”
“That’s lame, Misha. He’d appreciate the name, so just tell him. Now, listen, I need to live vicariously through you over the next week until I can go out into public, so you’d better send me updates on what’s going on between you two.”
“Who says anything will happen? Maybe we’ll just become better friends.”
“You want to know what I predict?” Drew asks. I nod, and he continues, “You’re going to spend more time on your back and hands and knees than on your feet on this vacation.”
I throw a handful of cotton balls at him. “I’m not a whore.”
“Didn’t say you were, but any woman with decent eyesight would take him for a ride—or ten. Just saying. I’m surprised the last woman who was with him didn’t sink her claws in him and hold on for dear life. You don’t let men like him get away.”
I sit down beside him and blot the spots on his neck. “He’s divorced.”
“Ew. I guess that is enough to have your balls crawl up inside your body.”
“You have a way with words, Drew. Anyway, I’m really okay with taking things slow. There are no expectations. We’re just going to have fun.”
“Famous last words.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re going to fall hard for him, he’s not going to be emotionally available, and you’re going to get your heart broken. Just be careful.”
“I’ll be fine, but thanks for your concern.”
He stands, his body covered in pink dabs. “Whatever. When you come home in a week, I expect you to be freshly fucked and non-bitchy. Now, put lotion on my back, wench.”
I flip him the bird. “I need to finish packing. Put your lotion on yourself.”
His whines echo down the hallway and into my room. “I hate