Misadventures with My Roommate by Elizabeth Hayley Read Online (FREE)
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Blake moved her eyes with the crowd that bustled past The Coffee Bean. She’d been working for about three hours—the first two of which she’d spent listening to some girl whose name she couldn’t remember introduce products and procedures at warp speed. Now she was thankful for the wall of windows that faced the busy street. Her mind wandered with the people outside, making up stories about who they were, where they’d come from, and where they were going.
A woman in a hot-pink miniskirt hobbled past in chunky black boots that laced up her calves. She’d clearly spent the night being ridden hard by a cowboy who’d come to town with a fictional rodeo. He’d roped her from his horse, stole away with her to his RV, and promised to look her up the next time his caravan rode through town. But he wouldn’t, and she’d be left alone, looking forlornly down random streets as the memories of the fierce fucking he’d given her swamped her mind at the most inopportune times. Blake shook her head. She almost felt bad for Pink Miniskirt. Hers would be a difficult life.
“Excuse me, Miss. Miss!”
Blake came back to herself with a start. Blinking rapidly, she focused on the woman in front of her—a lady with a severe black bun and a tweed suit.
“Sorry,” Blake said. A wide smile overtook her face as she continued. “How may I help you today?”
Black Bun didn’t return the smile. Instead, she looked harried and irritated.
Blake instantly grew wary of this woman who looked like the fate of everyone she encountered that day depended on whether or not she got a giant container of coffee—though it made Blake feel a bit like a superhero barista. With this one order, she would be saving this woman’s coworkers from being murdered with office supplies.
“I need a…”
And that was where Blake’s understanding of Black Bun’s order ended and her confusion began. The woman rattled off a combination of unfamiliar words with such speed that Blake wondered if the terms even applied to coffee. Surely there was no way all these words could be foreign to her. Though the woman ended her request with “latte,” a word Blake understood, it did nothing to clarify exactly what she was supposed to be making for this person.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Black Bun repeated her order, but the result was the same. Blake turned and stared at the giant menu posted on the wall behind the counter in hopes that she’d see something that resembled the woman’s order. No luck. Blake turned around slowly and stared at the woman awkwardly, unsure if asking her to repeat it again was worth either of their time.
“Jesus Christ,” Black Bun muttered. “I just want a grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha latte.”
This time, Blake heard all the words, but they meant nothing to her when strung all together like that. Blake put her palms on the counter and leaned on them. “That’s not a thing. I refuse to believe it.”