Page 42 of Nine-Tenths

"Colin can't have chocolate," Hadi says, suddenly intense.

"Shit." I stare down at the bottom of the cup. Brown sludge still clings to the side of the cup. How could I have not noticed? No wonder it tasted weird. "Shit."

"What?" Min-soo asks, and then her eyes pop wide. "I forgot."

"And youdrank it, you dipshit?" Hadi snarls at me, grabbing my shoulders.

"I didn't… the new coffee, I couldn't tell, I—"

"Colin," Dav says, pale with horror.

I clutch at my stomach, waiting for the first terrible cramp. Hadi ushers me into the kitchen, shoving me up next to the sink for either water or vomiting, whichever need comes first. Dav's wringing his hands, and Min-soo keeps apologizing.

It’s like I’m a trained monkey. They're all waiting for me to perform my big trick. Only… "I think I'm okay?"

Usually I go from zero to Aubrey Posen in about five minutes flat.

"What do you mean?" Dav asks.

Hadi studies me with narrowed eyes. Then she pins Min-soo in her sights. "Are you sure you made him a chocolate latte?"

"I made both at the same time."

"I feelfine,"I insist. "Though I'm not loving the aftertaste now that I know what it is. But I don't think I'm going to vom. Uh. It's a Christmas Miracle, I guess?"

"It's June," Dav says, deadpan, and I'd kiss him right there if he didn't look so stricken.

Chapter Thirteen

Iinsist that we're not changing our plans simply because Ididn'thave an allergy attack, and go home to shower. I stink of my fear-sweat, stale-coffee, and whatever lunch I spilled. And I need to wash the creepy-crawly sensation ofnotbeing sick off my skin, and get the taste of chocolate out of my mouth.

I couldn't kiss Dav if it tasted like yuckiness. And I absolutely plan on kissing Dav tonight. Not on the hand. On the mouth.

I wanna see what that forked tongue can do.

Would it be too forward? Dav's old-fashioned, yeah, but he isn't a swooning miss in need of a fainting couch. It just seems like his manners—and his hairstyle—are stuck in the past. Working at Beanevolence may be the first time in decades he's been surrounded with common people.

"That's depressing," I tell my towel.

I don't have much in the way of fancy going-out clothes, but Dav isn’t going to take me to some black-tie extravaganza on just a few hour's notice. I hope.

Shit.

I dive for my closet.

I've got a decent pair of dress pants, which I'd bought specifically for a fundraiser I'd gone to with Rebekah. They're tighter than I remember. Too many caramel lattes.

Or chocolate ones?

By rights, I’m supposed to be curled up on the floor beside my toilet, clutching my ribs and fighting off a pounding migraine. As I flip through my closet, looking for the black dress shirt that goes with these pants, I set my phone to speaker and call Mum.

"Hullo,mo leanbh," she answers. Her voice makes all the tension tucked up behind my lungs melt away. It makes me feel like I'm right back to being a kid next to her on the sofa for story time. I used to play around with having an accent like hers as a kid, to confuse my teachers, and I still put it on for funsies at the bar.

I wonder if Dav would laugh at me, orwithme, if I tried it with him.

"Hullo, Mummers," I say, sliding on the shirt.

"That’s a pretty man in that photo," Mum says, not even bothering with the pretense of small talk.