Not So Far Away (Worlds Collide The Duets #1) - LL Meyer Page 0,5

back a scoff at the way he’s wearing mirrored aviators at night. What a douche.

Our steps slow as we all casually move out of the flow of foot traffic. “I know you?” Jorgie asks.

“Nah, man. I know you.”

“That right?”

My radar pings. First time buyer. I study him more closely. This guy’s almost as tall as I am. He’s got crew cut dark hair and he’s wearing a light blue polo and khakis, but then my eyes hit the ground. He should be wearing some kind of loafers to go with this preppy get up, but instead there are scuffed black boots on his feet that are much too . . . utilitarian. My radar pings again. I don’t like it.

They’re casually shooting the shit about people they may or may not have in common, feeling each other out when I interrupt with, “What’s with the shades?”

Jorgie shoots me a quick, calculating look, reading my comment for the warning it is.

The guy hesitates before he pushes the glasses up onto his head, revealing some seriously bright blue eyes.

Jorgie starts to crack up. “Jesus, I think I’m blind. Put the baby blues away and let’s step into my office.”

No way. I clear my throat to repeat the warning, but Jorgie shakes his head, telling me it’s fine. The asshole smirks like he’s giving me the finger and follows Jorgie around the corner. I really don’t like this.

Standing there, alone on the busy sidewalk, I feel tentacles of unease start to slither up my spine. Then I see it. Movement. Down the block, two guys with similar crew cuts emerge from a doorway.

Shit! My instincts are never wrong so I do the only sensible thing. I run.

Cutting directly into the traffic, I take off across the street, narrowly missing getting smoked by a blue Toyota whose tires bark against the pavement when the driver slams on the brakes.

“Stop! Police!”

Holy fuck!! They are cops.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I take the first street to get off the main drag. I fly down the block, arms and legs pumping hard, my mind almost frozen with all the adrenaline.

“Stop!”

Faster! This block is a long one. There are a couple cafés, but the crowds are definitely thinning out. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I can’t think. At the next corner, I dive onto a busier street, and then boot it kitty-corner across a bank parking lot.

“Stop! I’m serious!”

I can barely hear the pounding footsteps over my own, but I don’t dare look back. All that rolls through my head is an image of my little girl being hauled away to foster care. Rosa, I’m so, so sorry.

Ellie

If I’ve learned anything over the past year, it’s that sometimes friends just don’t understand.

“Come on, Piper, please,” Vanessa whines. “We’ll have so much fun. Come with us.”

I wipe at the espresso machine with a bit more elbow grease, keeping my head down because Vanessa is right. It would be fun. But if she notices that my resolve is faltering, she really won’t take no for an answer.

“Oh, yeah,” I respond, my tone sprinkled with sarcasm to throw her off. “Spending the night as a fifth wheel is every girl’s dream.” Then, belatedly, I register what she called me. “And I’ve told you to stop calling me Piper. My name is back to plain-old Ellie now.”

Piper ceased to exist that Saturday morning all those months ago.

“Well, Ellie, as your boss, I’d like to remind you that just because you’re on an nine month sobriety streak –”

“Ten.”

“Sorry, a ten month sobriety streak, that doesn’t mean you never get to have fun. And I’m not planning to drink much tonight. I have to work tomorrow, remember? My favorite employee asked to trade shifts.”

She means me. I’m her favorite employee. Vanessa is the manager here at 1001 Beans and she went above and beyond to get me this job. I’m still incredibly grateful to her so when I glance up, I wish I hadn’t. Now she’s not only begging with words, but she’s using her eyes as well. “Pleeease, Ellie.”

Indecision assaults me. A couple hours wouldn’t hurt, right? Maybe I could look at it like a pick-me-up, like I’d be re-charging my batteries with a quick shot of the socializing that I miss so much. It’s not like I’d be drinking. I’d be home and in bed by midnight, one at the latest.

“Besides,” Vanessa goes on, interrupting my internal negotiations. “Since when are you worried about being a