PRETTY SAVAGE

Sample Chapter

There he is.                                                                    

Mr. Filthy Chai Tea Latte.

I mean, that’s obviously not his real name. It’s his usual drink order. Chai tea, steamed milk, and two shots of espresso. A rebel’s drink for sure. And since I haven’t gotten up the guts to ask him his name yet, he remains Mr. Filthy Chai Tea Latte.

It’s at times like this I wish we were like most coffee shops and requested a name for each order rather than just the to-gos. But the owner refuses to switch from the ever reliable—his words—order number system. Today, Mr. Filthy is number twenty-one.

My lucky number. Kismet?

At least once a week he meets here at The Pour Over with a group of similarly aged teens and they chat for hours. About what? Beats me. I’ve contemplated lingering by their table, performing menial tasks like restocking the oat milk at the drink prep area or wiping down nearby tables, in order to eavesdrop. But every time, I chicken out.

“A large filthy chai tea latte?” I ask before he has a chance to utter a word.

His eyebrow—pierced by the way—quirks up, and I realize I must’ve sounded like a major creeper for committing his order to memory.

A hint of a smile breaks the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Thanks, Donovan.”

I die.

I die.

I die.

My name rolls off his tongue like caramel sauce dripping down the side of a hot latte. I’ve clearly been working here too long if I’m making coffee metaphors already … and it’s only my second month.

Wait, he knows my name. How does he know my name? Has he asked about me?

I glance down at my apron and see my name tag resting there. The bright white letters radiate against the dark background. You could probably see it from space. Makes sense.

He pays with his phone and then, just like clockwork, drops a folded five-dollar bill into the tip jar. He’s so intriguing, paying for his drink electronically but also having cash on hand. And when I’m at the register, he leaves five dollars. Every. Single. Time. He might do the same for everyone else, but I enjoy living in the fantasy that I’m his chosen recipient. I imagine them as little love notes he leaves behind for my eyes only.

Okay. Pull it together, man. Composure.

I take in the show as he strolls off to join his group at a table near the back of the café. His tall, dark, and mysterious routine never fails to work on me. I sigh internally, but I’m not convinced a little didn’t seep out by accident.

“Smooth.”

My co-worker Marcus stands there grinning like a fool. A ridiculously gorgeous fool, but a fool nonetheless. His slicked-back chestnut brown hair is perfectly shaped to accentuate his chiseled features. The solitary dimple on his left cheek adds an extra kick to the impish grin he sends my way.

I laugh. “Yeah, definitely not my best work.”

“Nah, you did great. A real pro,” he teases. “Hey, why don’t you go talk to him? We’re slow right now and someone does have to bring him his drink, you know.”

He wriggles his brows at me. I roll my eyes.

Marcus is no stranger to affection. Unlike me, he probably hasn’t been rejected by anyone. He exudes confidence, which comes in handy when he dons a dress and a wig to perform in drag on the weekends at the one and only gay bar in Haddon Falls, Mae’s Lounge. Marcus becomes Miz Markie Marc. And yes, he does have a slight unhealthy obsession with Mark Wahlberg. Hence, the drag name. And he loves to refer to me as Donnie for the same reason.

“I don’t even know if he’s into guys like that,” I say. “Besides, he’s sort of out of my league. I mean, will you just look at that jawline?”

“With the perfect amount of scruff too,” adds Marcus.

“Exactly. And he has at least four or five inches on me in the height department.”

“What a shame, Donnie.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing.”

I know that’s not all he wants to say. He has more. Marcus loves to give input … and constructive criticism.

“It’s just….”

And there it is.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s just a shame you have such a low opinion of yourself, that’s all. Sure, he might be a certified eight and a half or even a nine if he ran a proper comb through that disheveled mess he calls hair, but boy, look in a mirror once in a while. Not only do you have the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, but you also have a beautiful full head of red hair.” He leans forward slightly to examine the top of my head. “With no signs of balding in your future whatsoever, I might add.” He relaxes back while swirling his hand in front of my face. “And with that complexion and bone structure? You pretty, my friend.”

I’m overwhelmed by the compliments. I’ve never been great at accepting them. I pretend to blow them off as he moves to the end of the counter where Mr. Filthy Chai Tea Latte’s drink is waiting. Marcus winks at me, scoops up the cup, and saunters over to the table near the back. He delivers the drink and then laughs while touching Mr. Filthy’s shoulder. The whole table joins in, and just like that, Marcus has ensnared them all.

Nothing seems to ever faze Marcus. I wish I had his level of chill. Teach me your ways.

On his return, I try to look busy and not seem like I’d been observing the whole scene.

Marcus props himself up on the counter by his elbows and rests his chin daintily on his hands. “His name is Connor, he’s most definitely into dudes, he’s single, ready to mingle, and he’s a Libra. You’re welcome.”

“How the hell did you find all of that out just by delivering his drink?”

“A drag queen never reveals her secrets. That’s why our wigs are so massive. But also, the first two things were true. The others I may have made up in the moment. They just felt right.”

“You’re the worst, you know that?”

“If by worst you actually mean the best, then I accept the praise.”

The door chime pulls our attention to the entrance of the café. My new bestie Lori rushes up to the counter seeming like she’s ready to burst with news. Her wavy black hair bounces as she busts into an impromptu shoulder dance. Having friends like her and Marcus has made my transition to living in Haddon Falls considerably more tolerable.

“Guess what?” she asks. Marcus joins in by mimicking her head bops and shoulder shakes. “And this right here is why I love you, Miz Markie Marc.”

Never a dull moment with these two.

Marcus pauses for a moment. “Girl, not in front of the breeders, okay?” he chastises before resuming to bop along with her.

“My bad, Marcus,” she corrects with a giggle.

“Not that I don’t appreciate whatever’s happening here,” I say, gesturing at the two of them, “but what’s up?”

Lori comes to a dead stop and a grin curls her lips like the Cheshire Cat. “Trent invited me to Sophia Gomer’s party tonight. The Trent.”

Her excitement is infectious, and I can’t help but match it. “Shut, up … wait, which one is he again?”

“That’s my cue to exit stage left,” Marcus says. “High school? Been there, done that, hated every second of it, and wrote a memoir.” With that, he heads over to bus one of the tables.

Ignoring him, Lori looks at me and groans. “Come on, you know Trent. I realize you’re new to school, but you can’t miss him in the halls. He’s one of the top players on the varsity football team. And he’s always with that hottie Harrison, the team’s quarterback. Perfectly quaffed hair, nice abs, great calves and butt. That Trent.”

“It’s really cute that you think I pay any attention to sports in the slightest. Half of what you just said was completely lost on me.”

“You and I are both fully aware that you don’t have to know squat about sports to admire the men who play them,” she argues.

“Touché,” I say, stroking my chin and searching my memory banks. “Oh. Isn’t Trent the one that a lot of people at school refer to as the ‘Twat Waffle Casanova’?”

“Only in some circles,” she fires back. “But he’s not like that. He’s nice. And, hello, more importantly he’s interested in moi.”

“So you’re going then?”

“Obviously, and you’re going to be my wingman.” She aims a double finger point in my direction for emphasis.

“I don’t know, Lori. I really should get a head start on my calculus homework tonight.”

“Seriously?”

I shake my head with squinted eyes. “No.”

She snickers. “Okay, so I’ll pick you up at seven. When we get to Sophia’s, we’ll pregame in the car with some serious liquid courage and then Project Trent will be a go.”

“It’s a date.”

One of the guys from Connor’s table calls out to Lori, putting a pause on our conversation. She glances over her shoulder and sends him a quick wave before turning back to face me with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Who’s that?”

My gaze lands on the guy in question. He sends over a wicked, knowing smile that gives me instant chills. Then his expression softens when he laughs at something said at the table.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she replies. Her demeanor changes. She seems put off.

“Just curious is all. Do you know them?”

She raps her hot pink painted fingernails on the counter, looking back over her shoulder when she hears her name called again.

“Hey, I got to go,” she tells me. “But I’ll see you at seven, right?” Her smile seems forced, hollow even.

“Yeah, of course.”

Why didn’t she want to talk about that guy? I get that we’re new friends, but this is the first time she’s been cagey around me. Definitely going to pin that for later.

She moves toward the group in the back. Her overall confidence and presence has noticeably dimmed. I can’t help but wonder how she knows them. I’m pretty sure they don’t go to our school. And who is the guy whose lap she’s currently sitting on? If I’d known her for longer than the month we’ve been in school together, I probably would’ve pressed her further on the subject.

“Would you call his skin tone olive?” Marcus inquires as he rejoins me behind the counter. “He looks Greek, right?”

“Who?” I ask absently, my attention on Lori.

“Hello.” He flashes me some dramatic side eye. “Connor. You know, the guy you’ve been standing there drooling over for the past few minutes. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I see all.”

That gets my full attention on him. “For your information, I was keeping an eye out for Lori over there.”

“Uh-huh.” He waves his hand in front of his face. “This right here is my convinced look. And if you believe that, then you’re gullible as hell.”

I laugh. “Hey, do you know how she fits in with that group?”

“Uh-uh. I ain’t got time for your high school drama club. I’m four years sober from all of that grade school B.S. If you want any tips, tricks, advice, and the like, I shall direct you to my countless diaries on the subject.”

“I’m serious, Marcus.”

“Nope.”

Three … two … one.

“Okay, okay, you’ve twisted my arm.”

Marcus can never pass up an opportunity to gossip. Like a moth to a flame.

He purses his lips. “If I tell you, will you promise to get back to work?”

I nod. “Promise.”

“I don’t know much, but I’ve seen Lori in here a few times with them. It’s been a while though. I think they’re her old friends from middle school or something. At least that’s what I’ve gathered from what she’s told me.”

“Doesn’t she seem uneasy to you?”

He tosses a damp cloth at my chest. “Nope. Uh-uh. Back to work with you. I’ve played around in your high school games long enough, and there’s a counter just waiting for you to scrub it down like the dirty thing that it is.”

I give him a half-assed salute and begin wiping down the counter. My eyes find Lori again just in time to catch her laughing with the group and hugging all over the guy whose lap she’s perched on. She’s relaxed, more at ease.

I guess maybe it was all in my head.

Trigger/Content Warning: Some Profanity/Language, Mentions of Suicide, Death, Violence, Mentions of Attempted Sexual Assault (Not Graphic), Mentions of Death of A Parent, Drinking, Mentions of Drugs – All Involving Teens.