Page 5 of Sunflower Persona (Classic City Romance #2)

Kori

W hat do normal people do on Saturdays?

Football, I think. But the season doesn’t start for a few more weeks, and even then, I don’t think watching people throw around balls and knock each other over is for me.

Sports weren’t exactly something my family was into when I grew up.

But maybe I should give it a shot here? I might have more luck making friends there than I did at the bar.

That doesn’t help me today, though.

The view from my room overlooks a large quad that sits between several other dorms. It’s the perfect vantage point to observe the average college student in their natural habitat. With my best David Attenborough impression, I glance at Daisy and narrate the scene.

“If you look below us, you will find a group of upperclassmen congregating on the green. They often meet in smaller circles known as ‘cliques,’ and these groups rarely interact. Watch as two cliques sit side by side without ever interacting. Oh. What’s this?

A rare treat, indeed. It seems as if we will get to witness a courting attempt.

“The male college student approaches a group of females with swagger in his step. It’s a bold move, but knowing that females of this species often travel in packs, the lone male won’t likely have a chance to catch her on her own.

The group of females stops, and judging by their defensive posture, the male will not be successful in his attempt. But let’s see how it plays out…”

A fit of laughter overtakes me, cutting my bit short before the poor guy walks away dejected. That right there is why approaching people is so hard. The risk of rejection is so much higher than the potential reward.

“What do you think I should do, Daisy?”

The only thing I am sure of is that I can’t waste today sitting around my dorm. I might not make any friends out there, but the odds still beat the zero percent chance I have staying here.

This would be so much easier if I had social hobbies.

“Exploring is a good option. I could go see what downtown is like in the light of day.”

Surely it won’t be the same hellish experience it was last night.

When I was growing up, my parents would tell me stories about their time at UGA. One complaint they both had was how hilly the campus is. I thought they were exaggerating, but Athens gives credence to the “walked uphill both ways” anecdotes. At least my ass will look great by the time I graduate.

Without the crowds and the constant bombardment of sound, downtown is actually kind of nice.

Sweet floral scents drift in from the North Campus gardens, covering most of the foul odors from the night before that still cling to the gutters.

In the chaos of the evening, I didn’t notice all the shops and restaurants.

They take up more window space than the bars by a large margin.

Most are basic, but some ooze that weird Athens charm my parents never shut up about.

My best chance at meeting someone I vibe with has to be in one of them.

I don’t make any friends in the first vintage store I check, but I do find several unique pieces to add to my wardrobe. It’s a win, even if it’s not what I set out to do.

Sunlight blinds me as I step back outside. It takes several seconds for the dark spots to fade from my vision, and the sight that greets me when they do has my stomach springing into a gymnastics routine worthy of the Olympics.

It’s him .

Across the street, Gage stands in front of a crowded coffee shop, looking surlier than he did last night.

Hell, the scowl that never left his lips might have actually been his customer service face, because the look there now is downright mean.

People are giving him a wide berth as they pass, going as far as crossing the street when they see him.

Of all the people in the city, it had to be him. The cruel fates must be laughing at me now. They heard my promise and tangled our threads.

With a heavy sigh, he drops back against the window and runs a hand over his face.

A strange pang of recognition hits me again, resonating all the way to my bones.

My feet carry me in his direction before I can think it through.

I couldn’t fight it if I wanted to. His anguished brooding has a leash on my heartstrings.

He doesn’t react as I approach him. I’m not sure if he doesn’t notice me or if he’s hoping I’ll go away if he ignores me.

Not much has changed about his appearance since last night.

I’m not sure why I expected it to. It’s not like bartending requires a specific uniform.

The only change is instead of a plain T-shirt, he’s wearing one branded with the logo for some place called “Double Teep.” I file that bit of information away and build up the courage to speak to the mountain of a man.

“Hey.” My voice comes out in a strained squeak.

It gets his attention, though. His lashes open without any haste, and he glares at me with the intensity of a raging storm. That’s the only reaction he gives. I guess we aren’t doing the whole “hi” thing.

“Gage, right? From Cutter’s? We met last night. You probably meet a ton of people every night, though, so it’s totally cool if you don’t remember me. I’m Kori, in case you forgot.”

An abrupt bark of nervous laughter stops my rambling.

Never once does his steely expression change.

The man doesn’t even blink. This was a bad idea.

Scratch that, this was the worst idea. I think he would rather swallow glass than talk to me, but that knowledge doesn’t stop more words from spilling past my lips.

“I wanted to check and see if you are okay.”

That gets a reaction.

His face softens, and for a brief moment, confusion overtakes his features, but the stone mask reappears in an instant.

Even so, that glimpse told me more than any words could have.

He isn’t used to people worrying about him, or at least strangers.

When was the last time someone asked how he was?

Who does he go to when he needs a shoulder to cry on?

It could be me if he’s willing to let me in.

Everyone needs someone to have their back when things get tough. I know I do.

“I’m fine,” he huffs.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Not your concern.” His words leave no room for argument, but there’s no malice in the tone.

“What’s going on? Maybe I can help.”

“Unless you can get me a job, I don’t think you’ll be much help.”

“A new job? What happened to the bar?”

“We can’t all be lucky enough to survive off one job. Cutter’s isn’t cutting it anymore.” His mouth snaps shut before his lips twist into a grimace. “What the fuck am I even doing? I don’t have time to waste standing here talking to you. Sorry, Kourtney, but I really have to go.”

Shaking his head, he pushes off the wall and disappears down the street without a backward glance.

Okay then. Nice talking to you too, asshole.

His rejection lances through me with a twisted barb, but its sting is dulled by my outrage. The audacity of this man. Next time, I won’t bother checking in on him. Clearly, he doesn’t need my help.

Although…if I could help him, rubbing that in his face would feel really good. Mom always says kindness is the best revenge.

Hanging in the window where he stood is a Help Wanted sign with “urgently” scrawled between the words with a thick marker.

That’s strange .

Why didn’t he go here? If he did, why didn’t they hire him? Maybe that’s why he was in such a bad mood. I’d be pissed off too if I were in his shoes.

The smell of fresh coffee rams into me with the force of a tidal wave as I walk into the shop.

By sheer force of will, I repress the urge to gag and keep pushing forward.

Coffee has never been one of my favorite smells; it’s too strong—like bleach or, God forbid, leather—completely overwhelming my senses.

How am I supposed to function when all I can do is smell?

It’s awful. But I’m not doing this for me—I’m doing this to be the bigger person.

There’s a wait to get up to the counter, and by the time I do, the young guy at the register looks beyond frazzled.

On a second glance, it becomes clear he’s the only person working behind the bar.

“What can I get started for you?” His smile is strained and, paired with the bags under his eyes, looks more manic than friendly.

“Nothing, actually. I saw the sign that you were hiring. Is that true?”

“Yes”—he breathes out a relieved sigh—“my manager will be here in half an hour. You are more than welcome to wait until she gets here to talk with her.”

Ah . That makes more sense. He wasn’t rejected, just never got a chance to interview.

“A man came in here before me, yeah? A big guy with a scary-looking face? But he couldn’t wait?”

A look of confusion falls across his face. “Yeah…how did you know that?”

“He’s a friend. I’m actually out here helping him find work. Did he leave a résumé with you?”

When the guy nods, I put on my best attempt at a flirtatious smile and bat my lashes at him.

“Do you think I could have it?”

If Gage can’t interview for himself, I’ll have to do it for him.

***

Not to toot my own horn, but I crushed Gage’s interview. Mr. Broody Danger should be receiving a call with the news any time now.

The warm glow of satisfaction burns in my chest as I walk back to my room with a spring in my step.

And he thought I couldn’t help him . I’ve never been happier to prove someone wrong.

Maybe this will show him that I’m not some annoying kid wasting his time.

Then he might actually give me the time of day.

I can’t rub it in his face if I never see him again, though. The fates showed their hand, but I have no guarantee they will intervene again. If I want to pursue this, I need to take the reins from here on out.

The name on his shirt—Double Teep—pops back into my head. That could be the connection I need. Maybe he will be more receptive when work isn’t involved.

“What do you think, Daisy? Would it be weird if I looked it up?”

Almost certainly, but that doesn’t stop me.

It doesn’t take me long to find it. The first search result is for an MMA gym about a mile north of campus.

I don’t know a ton about him, but fighting fits.

His face looks like it’s taken enough hits.

Knowing they were likely sanctioned makes me like him even more.

Everyone thinks they want a tough guy until they try to start something with some random person who looks at them funny on the street.

It’s different when it’s a sport—at least in theory.

The big red Request More Information button beckons me to click it. It would be so easy for me to show up and pretend it was another act of fate. But what would I say if he asked me why I was there? Lying isn’t my strong suit, and I’ve never had any interest in trying martial arts before now.

“This crosses the line from weird into obsessive, right?”

Judgmental plastic eyes stare back at me.

Yup. She’s right. Pressing that button would be crazy.

I close the tab before I do something to embarrass myself.

There are other ways I can go about making our paths cross.

It wouldn’t be that weird if I showed up at the bar again.

That’s what people do on Saturday nights.

And if he wants nothing to do with me, maybe I’ll have some luck making other friends.