"Hurry the fuck up!" Even through my bedroom door, his voice which was full of irritation, came loud and clear.
I groan at Tristan's impatience while tugging on a white tube top, "I said ten minutes!"
"Uh, yeah— ten minutes ago!"
"Class don't start before eleven. We have plenty of time." I wiggle into a pair of high-waisted light blue jeans that looked sprayed on from how tight they were while concurrently blow drying my damp hair.
"Juniper." I wince at his use of my full name. Yeah, he's not too pleased by my delay. "My schedule very clearly states that my first class starts at 10:45. Sharp."
I still at that and slowly turn around to face the rose gold clock hanging on the wall adjacent to my bed. Oh, no. It was already a quarter to ten, and campus was a fifteen minute Uber drive away— and that's only if you're lucky. New York City traffic jams were no joke especially in the business hours of the day. And I was only half dressed.
Shit.
"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. But, the professors are super lenient, I swear! Especially toward new students like you. All I need is another ten minutes."
I choose to ignore the muffled and ridiculously colorful string of curses Tristan growls and finish taming my hair as best as I can in such limited time. Shrugging on an oversized beige leather jacket, I step into a pair of chunky heeled ankle boots, shoulder my purse and swing my door open with a sheepish smile.
Tristan gives me a not very discreet once-over, and he looks impressed before meeting my eyes with a flat look. "I swear your time management skills will be the death of me."
I take a few seconds to appreciate his casual but sexy attire, then turn on my heel heading towards the elevator.
"If you save your comments about my time management skills— or lack, thereof, I suppose— we'll have time to stop at Starbucks."
"Why Starbucks? Aren't there any Dunkin' Donuts around here?"
I gasp so hard my lungs shudder from the effort. "Dunkin'?! Oh my God, I've agreed to let a fucking delinquent move in with me."
His face scrunches up in confusion and if I wasn't so appalled by his previous statement I might've laughed. "Delinquent? I asked a simple question."
I shake my head at his ignorance as we step into the elevator, "No, idiot, you did much worse than that. You just made me question your sanity."
Those electric blue eyes roll upwards, "I'm not sure I follow."
"Tristan. Dunkin' is shit compared to Starbucks— utter shit."
"Well that's a bit harsh—"
"No. You either join team Starbucks, or you never speak to me again."
A teasing grin spreads over his face as he follows me into the lobby, "Oh, come on princess, you couldn't not talk to me even if you tried your hardest."
"Don't underestimate me. I'm a fully committed Starbucks girl and would die for it."
"You would die for a latte?" he asks with a disbelieving snort. I cut him a glare for mocking my beverage choice, "No, but I would die for a caramel frappuccino and would kill for one too."
Exiting my building, I take a sharp left as Tristan stays glued to my side, "So, are we going to a Starbucks now? For your little frappuccino?"
"Yes, smartass, we're going to a Starbucks. For my Venti sized frappuccino."
We stay silent for the two block walk to the nearest Starbucks, just enjoying the late morning sun and the sounds of the city. For most, I'm sure the never-ending car honking and the music constantly blaring in the wee hours of the morning and the late night screaming matches are maddening. Not for me. In fact all those sounds are music to my ears; they're practically a chaotic melody that's always playing for me and allowing for me to go to sleep.
When I moved to North Carolina, it took me months to get used to the dead silence where it was rare to even hear a single car drive by. Those weeks were filled with barley more than a few minutes of sleep: it felt like the silence was suffocating me, permitting my racing thoughts to take over and drive me insane. I guess that's why I loved the city noise that most despised: it distracted me from my own mind when nothing else could.
I sigh softly enough for the sound to get lost in the street noise and make another left, the Starbucks finally coming into view.
Wordlessly, Tristan and I enter the store, the cool blast of the air conditioner hitting our faces. Manhattan is filled with countless Starbucks shops but still, some people from school just happen to end up here much to my vexation. One such person being Andrew Holmstrom. As I pass by his table full of his fellow football teammates, headed for the barista to place my order, he shoots me a charming smile accompanied with a wink right after. I ignore him and walk right past, already knowing what he was about. Sleazy, arrogant, and a certified douchebag, that particular football player was someone I would never open my legs for.
Besides, he wore way too much hair gel and frankly, his slicked back blonde locks looked like a greaseball.
Tristan obviously caught sight of my blunt rejection because he lets out a low, long whistle. "Well, princess, aren't you a little heartbreaker."
I side-eye him, "What are you even talking about? What he wanted from me had nothing to do with anyone's heart."
He gives me a fiendish grin, "You make that sound like a bad thing."
I shrug, as we get into the line which was luckily not too long this morning, "Never said there was anything wrong with wanting a quick, no strings attached hookup— it's actually a great thing to have."
"Hm, sounds like you have some experience."
"Maybe, maybe not."
At last, it's our turn to order, thankfully cutting off wherever that conversation was headed towards. I give the barista a polite smile and order my usual: a caramel frappuccino and a birthday cake pop. I disregard Tristan's knowing look at my order and he asks for a classic iced coffee and cinnamon bagel. We wait a few minutes and collect our food but before I can even whip out my wallet, Tristan is paying with a simple tap of his phone.
I stare at him in outrage, "Asshole! It was my turn to pay!"
He gives me a look, "You're not paying. Ever. I was raised with what's called manners."
I huff and take an aggressive sip of my drink while he collects some napkins from the napkin dispenser. A worker who was sweeping a few feet away from us looks up and smiles at us. She looks around a few years older than me and says, "You two make a very good-looking couple."
I almost drop my frappe— huh?! Is that what it looks like? I take a quick look around the Starbucks where there were plenty of people here from school and I'm sure they all heard of me and Darrell's scandalous break up. What if they think wrong, and word gets around to him? I smother down my impending panic and glance at Tristan who looks surprised too but his mouth curves upwards with amusement. I give the barista a smile that probably looks more like a pained grimace, "Uh, we're not a couple, like, at all. We're just..."
What even were we? Friends? Friends who call each other hot and live together and flirt while sitting by fountains? Tristan steps in with a small smirk that was clearly directed towards me, "We're just friends."
Friends. Right.
⭒ ☆ ⭒
"Hey, cool, we have a lot of the same classes."
We're sharing a table at the Starbucks and sitting across from each other, eating our breakfast. While doing so, Tristan and I are going over his new schedule and comparing it to my own.
He nods and gives me a smile. "Yeah, we have ethics, finance, entrepreneurship, accounting, logistics, stat 101, and even marketing together. Our majors must be related."
"Probably. Most of my schedule is in sync with yours."
"What are you majoring in?"
I blow out a subtle breath at the sore subject, "Business and commerce."
He raises an eyebrow at me, "You don't sound too pleased about it."
I take a long sip of my frappe, biding as much a possible so that I can conjure up a mostly neutral answer that'll stop the questions coming at least for now. "It is what it is. I can't exactly run a future business without that particular major." And it was true, according to my father. How was I supposed to take over his precious industry at the age of twenty-five without nearly rendering myself insane with numbers in my college years? Yeah, I was still stuck on answering that question myself.
Tristan munches thoughtfully on his bagel so I take this as my opportunity to steer the subject towards him, "How about you? What are you majoring in, Walker?"
"Finance."
My nose involuntarily scrunches up that, and he laughs at my reaction, "What's wrong with finance?"
"Nothing, nothing... it's just you know, so many numbers and stuff."
"Number and stuff? You mean math? And this is coming from a business major?
"Yeah, but finance is literally math all day and night. It's mentally degrading."
He shrugs, "I'm pretty good with numbers."
"How good?"
"For example, did you know we have approximately twenty minutes 'till classes start?"
I freeze, my half-eaten cake pop hanging in midair. "Shit. Shit. It's a fifteen minute drive there! Why are you telling me this just now?" I jump out of my seat and throw out my cake pop in the nearest trash bin, trying not to think of how much delicious glory I just wasted.
Tristan watches me, his face lit with mirth, "What the hell would you do without my pretty good math and me?"
I spare a glare at him while wishing my Uber app would load faster, "I've been managing just fine for the past few years without you, thank you very much." Just fine as in earning a student record amount of tardy passes.
He gets up briskly and disposes of his finished food— he ate like ten times faster than me. Peering over my shoulder at my phone, he asks, "Why are we using Uber? Don't you have a car?"
"A car? In New York City? That's basically financial suicide: parking around here is a fucking nightmare and there's no way I'm wasting half a grand to keep a car parked— and that's only for an hour."
"O-kay, then why don't we use my motorcycle?"
I whip around to face him in shock, "You have a motorcycle? Since when?"
He grins, "Since before I moved here. I had to use nearly half my savings to get it flown here from Illinois."
I stare at him with a murderous expression, "And you're telling me that we have a quick way to get to school just now?!"
"So many questions today, princess. Save your breath and follow me."
I let out a long, aggravated exhale and walk out of the Starbucks after him. We walk for a few minutes and reach a sleek black motorcycle that makes the snark in me dissolve into awe. Now, I wasn't going to lie, having a motorcycle is about the smartest vehicle you can own in the city: parking is easier since the cycle is compact and can be parked sideways or in little crannies and traffic is easier to be dealt with because the cycle can slip through spaces between cars.
Not that I was going to let him know how smart that was— his ego was inflated enough.
Tristan settles onto the front of his cycle and pats the seat behind him, "We don't have all day blondie, get on." Scowling, I tentatively slide in behind him, careful not to let our bodies touch. He notices what I'm trying to do and smirks, "Don't worry, you won't be wanting any amount of space when we hit the road." To hell with whatever that meant.
Digging into the front compartment, he presents to me a big, black helmet. It looked about two sizes too big, "I'm not putting that on." In one smooth movement he turns around in his seat so that he's straddling it backwards and facing me.
"Yes, yes, you are. If I'm going to be arrested, I don't want it to be for the murder of a chick like you. Not very badass, is it?"
I ignore the last part, "Okay, and where's your helmet? I'm not looking forward to the conversation with Gen where I tell her that her cousin got decapitated on my watch."
He scoffs and pushes the helmet toward me again, accidently knocking knees with me. "This helmet is only here for show; I hardly use it. So, again, put it on before I put it on for you."
I roll my eyes and slip it on, fumbling for the strap that's supposed to connect under my chin. Of course, it would be easier to buckle the strap if I could actually see, but before I can complain the visor is being flipped up and I'm staring straight into bright blue eyes that look too amused for my liking. Tristan gently pushes my hands aside and for some dumb reason, probably having to do with my senses short-circuiting at our super close proximity, I let him.
His warm fingers tighten the strap effortlessly, and they linger under my chin for a moment, his eyes locking with mine. Unaccompanied by another word, he swiftly turned back around leaving me slightly breathless and wholly confused.
I hear him turn on the engine which makes a satisfying hum in response. "Hold on!" he yells over the engine. Yeah, no thank you, I was perfectly okay sitting here without touching him—
Without so much of a warning, we're zooming off and I'm not even secured to anything. I screech a curse that naturally gets lost in all the noise, but Tristan hears it bursts out laughing. I don't let myself waste another second before throwing my arms around his midriff and compressing my thighs around the outside of his.
He uses one hand to give my knee a little squeeze which I'm sure was supposed to be a reassurance but all it did was make me aware of how there wasn't so much as an inch of space between our bodies. Tristan was infuriatingly correct— right now, even a little space could potentially lead to me falling off and getting crushed by a taxi, which was not how I wanted to leave this world. Space was out of the question, much to my dismay.
I attempt to distract myself from thinking about the solid stomach muscles I was currently clutching with my hands, and the heat of his equally solid and muscled back which my front was plastered onto. But it was seriously hard to try and fill my head with images of taxis and trees when all I could think about was him.
In record time, we arrive at campus, where people were already hustling around. Tristan parks in between two cars and stops the engine. Immediately I rip myself off him and scoot a few inches backwards. He slides off his seat and flashes me a cocky grin, "Told you that you wouldn't want any space once I starting driving— I think you might've bruised my rib cage with that grip of yours. Wasn't that fun?"
I tear the helmet off my head and throw it at his face, hoping it will suffice for an answer. But, he catches the helmet— which I threw with impeccable aim by the way— seconds before it crashes into his nose, because of course.
He raises his eyebrows looking more amused than anything else, "Now, that wasn't very nice. This is what I get for giving you a lifetime of experience on my baby?" It takes me a second to understand that he's referring to his motorcycle as his 'baby', and not a person. The relief that washes over me at this realization has me clenching my fists.
A little growl of annoyance slips from my throat and I get off his stupid motorcycle, shouldering my way past him. I hear him lock up his bike and then jog after me, "Hey, wait! You're my guide; you can't get all pissed and just ditch me!"
"Well, maybe I would be in a better mood if you hadn't rushed me when you had a motorcycle all along!"
He blinks, "So this is all about me rushing you this morning."
"Yes!" I hiss indignantly. "Never rush a woman especially when we're getting dressed." I wisely decide not to mention that I was also upset at myself for allowing his charms rouse me.
Tristan eyes my body down and then back up in a way that makes my anger falter for a moment. "I think you look perfect."
"A few more minutes and I would've looked even better."
"Can't get much better than that, princess."
I level him with an unimpressed look even as slight heat rises to my cheeks, "Don't try kissing up to me. You suck at it."
"It's clearly working."
I make a face at the accuracy in his statement and turn on my heel, once again leaving him in the dust. Satisfaction sparks through me when he doesn't protest and I can't help but yell over my shoulder, "Don't come crying to me when you miss your first period class!"
When I look over my shoulder though, I see that he's trailing behind me silently. I stop and narrow my eyes at him, "Why are you following me?"
He looks up and gives me an infuriatingly bright smile, "Lead the way, blondie. We have the same first and second period classes."
I have my purse strap in a death grip and stalk towards class, Tristan in tow. I swear, this boy will be the end of me. No one has the competence to get to me the way he does, and I hate it.
We make it most of the way to class and suddenly I'm being attacked. I'm practically tackled to the ground, but Tristan places a hand on the small of my back, keeping me from toppling over. Before I can scream, I realize that the attacker is none other that Imogen. Only she can make a hug lethal.
I smile but it wavers and then disappears altogether when I see the panicked and cautious look on her face. It was the same look one would make if they were stuck in a cage with a lion or something; terrified and not knowing how to handle the situation.
My lips tug into a worried frown at her expression, "Hey, what's going on."
She rests her hands on her knees and hunches over, panting from her wild dash across the campus, not bothering to even spare a glance at Tristan who looks equally concerned at her state.
After somewhat catching her breath, she swallows hard and begins slowly, "Juniper. Please don't get mad."
Immediately, my posture stiffens in apprehension because I've learned the hard way that when someone says that there's always something unpleasant to follow.
She continues breathlessly after an agonizing suspenseful pause, "It's Isaac. H-he's landing here in New York. Tomorrow."
buckle up, the drama has officially entered the chat!!!
tbh, dunkin' donuts or starbucks?? (i'm a starbucks girlie through and through since dunkin' doesn't make any typa frappes 💅🏽)