Coffee & Nerves (boyxboy)

[1] The Inciting Incident

"Hello, welcome to Hastings Cafe! My name's Spencer, what can I get for you this morning?"

I attempted to display a genuine smile on my face as I peered out over the frames of my glasses. I shifted my attention from my pen and notepad to focus on the man I was standing in front of.

He was crouched in the cafe's small corner booth and I found it extremely difficult to not gape at such a horribly failed attempt to comb over a receding hairline.

"Hrrrm," the grumbled noise exited his mouth as he furrowed his thick brows even further together. He chewed and sucked on the toothpick stuck between the clamps of his jaw in a frustrated manner. The muscles in his face twitched with a frown.

I generally didn't hate the fact that I work at my family's cafe. But serving guys like this certainly makes me question why god had to choose me to be the unwilling victim of my parents' DNA.

From an outside perspective, they don't seem that bad, guys like this. Their rude manners appear to pale in comparison to those of rowdy, obnoxious teenagers.

Yet I have never had a teenage customer yell at me for slow service or complain about things I can't control. It's always the adults that do that. That treat me like I'm inferior, less than.

Guys like this particular dude are the worst.

They're almost always underemployed-

(they better be, anyway, since they never seem to tip)

middle-aged men with zero patience and not an ounce of manners in their bloated beer bodies. It's all the frat boys that are long past their "glory days" of boobs, booze, and blackouts-- but still reminisce about those good 'old days constantly.

The ones angry that they realized the negative effects of all that smoking and drinking

--(including on their *hrm* performance down there)

too late.

I knew the type. The indecisive customer that despite not knowing what they want to order, they know they want to get angry at you.

I internally sighed and resisted the urge to tap my foot as I waited for his reply.

"Get me... a cup o' coffee," he commanded with a grumble, not even looking up at me. There was a long pause.

"... black." He added with a stern nod of his head.

"Will that be all for you today, sir?"

"Dunno. Just get me my coffee first," he instructed, then murmured, "Jeez," under his breath.

"Okay, one coffee coming right up" I responded, then hurriedly turned around to head toward the back kitchen.

"And it better not be cold!" I heard him grumble lowly. Even though I had my back toward him 20 feet away, I could practically feel the roll in his eyes and the arrogant snarl on his face.

I discretely shook my head in disgust.

How could people just so naturally be so mean? I mean, like, isn't it exhausting?? It must take a lot of energy- something I definitely do not have.

I may only be a high school Junior, but working every morning and afternoon shift at the cafe and juggling all of my AP college credit courses does take its toll. Well, it's summer now, so I don't know if I can technically call myself a Junior anymore.

As I momentarily got lost in my thoughts, my feet slipped under something slick and I fell backward, my right shoulder colliding with the sharp edge of the front counter. I stumbled as I attempted to balance while simultaneously holding my hurt shoulder to soothe the pain.

I fail at this miserably and bump into something else hard and bring it down, crashing to the floor, with me. I silently wonder what inanimate object also deserved my wrath...

I opened my eyes to find, much to my horror...

It was not an inanimate object.

It was a guy.

It was a teenage guy.

It was not a grumpy, beer-bloated, indecisive, former frat member, guy.

I am laying on top of him, my newly-bruised shoulder in painful contact with his. He hastily pushes me off of him and scoots away from me. I wince in pain from being rolled off of him onto my injured shoulder.

Actually, I take back the grumpy part.

He's standing over me, hovering. He squints his eyes at me with an intense glare that makes me squirm.

I don't know if it's the intense pain in my shoulder or his stare, but something sends a shiver down my spine.

I bite down on my lip as I concentrate on slowly positioning myself to use my hands as leverage to push off the ground. I have now extended to my full height and look up to realize this guy is towering over me, not looking too happy. He seems to have been attentively observing my every movement and his eyes flicker down to where I bite my lip. This only makes me more self-conscious and flustered. I become aware of our close proximity and take a step back, averting my eyes from his intense gaze.

I clear my throat and fumble with the edge of my apron, looking down as I say, "Sorry 'bout that."

I hear no response.

I wait a moment, then I look up and he's gone. I was only just able to catch a glimpse of him through the cafe window, talking on the phone with an anguished look on his face as he walked fast to his car.

"Hey! Waiter!"

I glance over to the corner of the cafe where the shout came from.

"Where's my coffee?!"

Sigh.

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AN:

I'm not sure if I like this first chapter, but it's necessary for later on stuff.

Anyways... what do you think this mysterious teenage guy is angrily talking on the phone about that would cause him to be so rude to adorable Spencer Hastings?

Lemme know;)

--also any feedback, comment, suggestion, you give will be very very appreciated!!

Love,

    Leah