Grabbing my phone, I start a group text telling Eryk and Crystal the two of us are heading out, and they should call when they’re ready to leave.
“Come on,” I say.
Brendan grabs my hand, taking me by surprise. I have the unexpected urge to jerk it away, but I don’t. Instead, I let him lead me across the floor and out of the club, our still full drinks left behind on the cocktail table.
On the sidewalk, the warm air wraps around me like a comforting blanket. With the heat and Brendan’s presence, the only thing missing is the stifling humidity of a North Carolina summer.
“What’s around here?” Brendan asks.
“Hm.” I purse my lips and look up and down the street. I kind of have my whereabouts, but also don’t know too much about the street we’re on. “I think there’s an all-night coffee shop nearby.”
“Do they have cage dancing?”
I pout out my lower lip. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”
“Damn it.”
I laugh and lead the way, glad I opted for dressing down. The one night of heels and a skirt last week was enough to last me a few months.
The coffee shop is where I thought, nestled between an Ethiopian restaurant and a place that appears to sell lamp shades and fish tanks. Its tables are full of young people on laptops. They aggressively type away, headphones on and latte cups half-empty.
There’s an available table right by the window, and I settle down into it.
“Coffee?” Brendan asks.
“Yeah, thanks.”
I watch him go. He didn’t ask how I take it, and that’s because he already knows. I lean back in the chair and keep my eye on him as he goes up to the counter. I never realized how much I miss having someone in my life who knows me so well. My roommates know a lot about me, of course, more than most people do. And I got to know a few other friends really well during our years at UCLA, but it feels radically different with a boyfriend.
The barista hands Brendan two red mugs, and I snap my head towards the window, not wanting to get caught watching him. The stoplight down the street changes and a steady stream of headlights comes my way, each set of them striking the window glass near me for a split second.
“Here you go,” Brendan says when he arrives. He sets the steaming coffees down and takes a seat in the cushioned chair across from me. He sighs and looks around the place. “This is nicer.”
“Yeah. I agree. Sorry again.”
“It’s all cool. It was nice for a few minutes.”
“Just a few minutes?”
He shrugs, a smile playing on the side of his mouth.
I take my coffee and blow on it simply for the sake of having something to do. If left to their own devices, my hands will either twirl my hair or break something.
“How’s your new job?” he asks.
I glance at him over the cup’s ceramic rim. “It’s good.”
What do I say? The topic of my current job will always be a tricky one. It’s best to just say nothing at all and let the issue slide.
“Why did you come here for the summer?” I ask a second later and bite my tongue. Was that too aggressive of a question?
“You remember Kyle?”
“Yeah. He’s always lived out here. But I thought you guys weren’t close.”
Brendan shrugs. “We didn’t used to be. But he came home last Christmas and, I don’t know… we kind of bonded, I guess. He invited me out for the summer. His roommate is an actor and out doing a play in Michigan or something till August.”
I take a sip of coffee. It nearly scalds my tongue, but it’s good. I’ll take drinking coffee at ten o’clock at night any time over liquor.
“This reminds me of Devin’s,” he says.
I laugh out loud. “But that was so different!”
Devin’s is the kitschy little coffee shop we hung out at in high school. With walls full of paintings of seashells, ocean view sunsets, and cats the owner painted herself, the place’s taste in art was gag worthy.
“A lot of old people go there,” I point out, then flick my eyes over at the nearest table, where what looks like a study group pours over giant textbooks.
“Yeah, I know,” he slowly says, rubbing his palms together. “I guess I only said that because I’m with you. That’s all. It just brought it back.”
“Do you still go there?”
“Sometimes.”
“What’s it like?”
He lifts a shoulder. “It’s basically the same. I think they still haven’t sold even one painting. The only thing different about that place is you’re not there.”
I bite my tongue and look down, resisting the urge to ask if he goes there with another girl.