The Bad Boy Next Door

The Girl in the Coffee Shop

Zeke's POV

I've been at this bloody school for two weeks. Two long, excruciating weeks. What's worse is that every single day, my parents remind me that I'm supposed to be meeting my babysitter— sorry, peer mentor — which I have yet to do. I guess that's why I'm standing in front of this sorry excuse for a coffee shop, the one the babysitter said she'd be at during fourth class study hall.

I can see her from the window outside as I parked my bike. Her chocolate brown hair has hints of caramel peaking through from the sun shining on her face, causing her milky skin to glisten. She looks deeply involved with the book she was reading.

I squinted my eyes to see what book it was. Pride & Prejudice. A classic, and a favorite of mine. Jane Austen was a truly great writer.

When I walked into the shop, the bell dinged, but whatshername still didn't look up. Too engrossed in her book. Interesting.

I placed and order for an earl grey tea and waited patiently to the side, watching the girl flip through the pages. I even noticed a slight tear in her eye, which she promptly wiped away. Mr. Darcy will do that to you.

I grabbed my tea from the counter and continued to watch the girl for a few moments. She was rather pretty for an American girl. Her green eyes were bright and wide and gave her an unfair advantage over me. I'm a sucker for green eyed gals. Her milky white skin was impeccably clear of blemishes and her body curved in all the right places.

She had a white button up blouse on with a pink knitted cardigan pulled up to her elbows, and a pair of dark blue high waisted jeans with a caramel colored thin belt. She had her hair pulled back in a low pony tail, I assume so it wouldn't get in her way while she read. All the other times I had seen her, her hair had been down, draping over her shoulders.

It was odd seeing how elegant she looked. Not because she doesn't pull of the look, but because two weeks ago I noticed her with her mother— at least that's who I assume it was. Her mother was nothing like her in looks, features yes, but not looks. Her mother was in a ratty tank top and black jeans while her hair looked like it hadn't been brushed, let alone washed, in a week. I had seen an exchange of what looked to be cash and the woman walked away. I hadn't seen her since.

Finally I decided I should get this meeting over with so my parents will get off my back about acclimation or whatever they said. It was all BS anyway, they just wanted me to get over the death of Dylan. They didn't care about acclamation

As I walked up to her she still hadn't noticed me. I wasn't used to people not taking note of my presence. Even when I walked in here, the barista and two young ladies looked my way and shamefully sent me flirty smiles.

I cleared my throat. Still nothing. "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot or the words, which laid the foundation. It was too long ago. I was in the middle before I even knew that I begun."

She was still looking down at her book. Jeez. What does it take for a guy to get noticed around here? I thought for sure quoting Darcy would at least get me a side glance.

As I opened my mouth to speak again, she interrupted. "Mr. Darcy, nice of you to finally join our bi-weekly study sessions." She put a crinkled receipt in the binding over her book and closed it before looking up to me with a smirk.

Cheeky. "Does that make you Elizabeth?" I quirked an eyebrow.

A shade of red rose from her neck to her cheeks, "Hardly. I'm more of a Catherine, which puts us in two very different books."