Coffee & Criminals

14. I Dare You

What do you do when you find yourself lost in Brooklyn, New York, with no one for company except for a notorious and dangerous miscreant with offends such as murder and international drug dealing who looked like he went through a battle with Godzilla? And what do you do when said criminal offers to take you home but you secretly believe he's going to kill you and dump your body into a meat grinder because the leader of an organized crime institution that caused an entire nation to stop and gape open-mouthed in fear does not do nice things like that.

Well, the only thing you can do is slap one of his ears and run away.

Which is exactly what I did.

And it didn't work out.

For the third time yet, Wolfe merely just captured the hemline of my sweater with one of his bruised hands before I could dash away and pulled me back until, once again, I was back in his grip. Of course, I did not like that one bit. Being manhandled wasn't on the list of enjoyable activities. So what did I do? What did I, the stupid and very impulsive teenage girl, do to get out of the mess I accidentally found myself in? 

Well, I slapped his hands away and began to cry again, that's what.

Wolfe stared with wide, alarmed eyes as I burst into tears. He quickly released my clothes and stepped back. I think he was kind of unsure of what to do. The man who could so easily take control had no idea what to do with a lost, sobbing teenage girl. "What's the matter with you?" Wolfe questioned, sounding startled. "Florence, for fuck's sake. Why are you crying? Are you okay? Jesus Christ-"

I didn't even know why I was crying. I was so upset Ade didn't show up, but even more upset from running into Wolfe Sterling. I didn't want to see his face....his perfect, gorgeous, beautiful face. Wolfe's presence managed to darken my mood like nothing else. I wasn't even this upset when I ran out of Twizzlers.

Uncomfortable now, Wolfe reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those cute little mini-size packages of Kleenex and handed me the whole thing. I took one out (he had the scented kind, can you believe it? The package had little pink flowers on it, too.) and gave the rest back to Wolfe. My voice was shaky when I spoke. "Thank you."

"No problem." Wolfe frowned. "What are you doing here, Florence?"

Quickly over my outburst, I felt a clench of embarrassment replace the wave of emotions. Flustered, I could only manage a shrug. I didn't have to explain anything to Wolfe, but it seemed like he wasn't going to let me leave until he got one. "I got lost."

"Yes, I figured that." He sighed. "You want me to take you back home?"

"No, thank you." I was horrified at the idea. Wolfe, take me home? That was basically asking to get murdered. I didn't trust him as far as I could throw him, and I could barely throw a basketball. Besides, after what happened a couple nights ago in the Espresso House lounge, I was more than unwilling to spend even a second of more time with Wolfe than I had to. Wolfe Sterling doesn't do nice. "I can find my way home. I'll call an Uber or something."

"Don't be silly." Wolfe's blue eyes flashed with indignation. I didn't know whether it was at my suggestion or at my refusal to take him up on his. He reached for me. Startled, I ducked out of the way so his fingers clenched at empty air. "Come on, I'll take you back to the coffee shop. I was heading that way, anyways. It's going to rain soon and I don't feel think either one of us would appreciate a fever tonight, Florence. You'll be safer with me. I promise."

As if.

Still unwilling to agree, I shook my head. "Like I said, Wolfe, I can get myself home just fine. I don't need your help, but thanks for the offer. Who would refuse a car ride with a murdering psychopath? Everyone, including me. Such a kind suggestion, but I'd rather not. So nice of you to ask, but I shan't. I don't plan on dying at the age of 18. I'd like to live a little longer, perhaps be executed around my thirties when life gets dull, you know how it works, setting up your own hitman for yourself, the whole shebang, the run on sentences, I haven't paused to take a breath as I am saying all of this, so I'm running a little low on oxygen..." I wheezed and finally came to a stop.