Claimed by the Cartel

Chapter 3 : Campus Coffee

Honey

Time for coffee. My caffeine fix. I was up all night studying for some bullshit math test that had nothing to do with my major, but it was a requirement. Sure, I can remember obscure terms or exactly what someone was wearing at brunch four years ago.

But math?

My Achilles heel.

So now I had to wake back up before I went to the class I actually liked. I just hoped I survived math long enough to get the credit for my transcript and never have to do an equation evvveeerrr again.

My phone buzzed.

Tucking my book under my arm, I reached into my pocket to see a missed message from Roman. I'd only met him a week ago, but I really enjoyed texting him. My lips quirked into a smile when I saw it.

Roman: Hey, do you want to get a drink with me?

Me: Tonight? I can't. I have a morning class tomorrow.

Roman: That's a shame.

My stomach twisted because I did want to get a drink with him. He made me nervous in a good way and…he intrigued me.

Me: Tomorrow?

Roman: Tomorrow is good.

I should say something flirty.

Me: Maybe I'll let you buy me a drink.

Oh yeah. Hook, line, and sinker. I could pat myself on the back for that one.

Roman: What else would you let me do?

Instantly, my face flamed. I could hear that sentence in his voice. That raspy, sexy voice that made my knees wobble when I talked to him on the phone.

That sweet-talker. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. I like how my belly flushed with heat. What would I let him do to me?

Me: Buy a girl dinner first, Roman.

I giggled to myself at that one, shifting foot to foot, still walking toward that coffee shop without a care as to where I was going.

Roman: I'll take you up on that, baby girl.

Why did I like that?

Never once had I ever liked being called baby girl or doll or sweetheart or any pet name, but when Roman said it so nonchalantly on the phone, my thighs tingled. Wetness pooled in my panties and I didn't understand why I liked it so much.

Roman was an anomaly to me. He drew me in. Sent little shivers down my spine. Whether it was danger or attraction, I wasn't quite sure. I was still trying to pinpoint exactly what it was about him. Maybe it was his absolute certainty in himself. The arrogance I could hear in his voice.

He knew who he was and I was still trying to find that out about myself. Maybe I envied it a little bit. I had this urge to absorb some of that certainty.

Really, it didn't surprise me. I was a psychology major and therefore hyperaware of how my parents influenced my childhood. I dissect people based on their walk, the flicker in their eyes, and the fluctuations in their voices.

I could read just about anyone.

Except for Roman. His mannerisms contradicted themselves. He'd say one thing with complete conviction while his body language said something else entirely. I wanted to get into his head and figure out what he was thinking.

That came from my mother. She was an alcoholic talk show host who knew what buttons to press to make the best TV. My father knew how to manipulate people to get what he wanted. A match made in Hell.

That's why they're divorced.

Some divorced kids would be excited to have two versions of holidays, but while my dad spoiled me rotten, my mother forgot I existed. I knew I wasn't planned, but I'd appreciate it if my mother pretended she liked me.

But no. She'd forget birthdays. Important events. Always absent. Drunk. If I mentioned any of it, I'd meet her belt. I dreaded my holidays with her. Months trapped in her condo wondering if I'd find her body, finally worn to nothing from years of substance abuse.

I would wake up on Christmas day to find her intoxicated on the kitchen floor, knife in her hand, in a pool of her own sick.

I never knew what she planned to do with that knife. Was it for me? Or for her?

She'd tell me she was fine. That she wouldn't relapse again. I had to protect myself from her. No child should ever have to protect themselves from their parents. She was always lying. Eventually, my dad got full custody of me. He wasn't much better, but at least I knew he loved me in his own way.

Unfortunately, he overcorrected. And manipulated to “keep me safe". My dad was a master manipulator. My childhood was in the confines of homeschooling and avoiding paparazzi.

But the love child of a politician and a public TV personality made for a complicated childhood. It only got worse as I started to grow up. I became anti-social. Cautious. I'm still trying to unlearn the survival mechanisms I taught myself. The flinching and the shaking.

The “shut up and smile," mentality.

Now I was free from my father's legal ownership of me, but there was only so much behavior I could correct. And that's why I have an uncanny ability to know when people are lying to me. I swear I'm too f*****g observant for my own good.

And just as that thought crossed my mind, I ran face-first into an incredibly firm chest. The man's coffee went flying, saturating a white dress shirt. My phone propelled across the sidewalk. And my textbook skidded over and tripped a student who got caught up in my acute sense of observation.

“I'm so sorry!" I gasp, trying to salvage his coffee cup, but it's toast.

I didn't even look up at him as I went for my textbook. Black slacks appeared in front of my vision as he helped me gather my stuff.

The first thing I noticed was scarred knuckles.

The second thing, his voice.

“It's fine."

My face was boiling. I can't believe I just did that. Why do I even go outside? His scarred hands outstretched my book and phone to me. I took them, sheepishly looking up into deep gray eyes.

Troubled eyes.

“Thank you," I said, tucking some of my hair behind my ears.

This man couldn't have been a student. He wore a suit jacket, also stained with coffee.

“Your jacket," I gasped, now seeing the damage I caused. “Oh no. Can I do anything?"

He had incredibly defined features, only accentuated by a neatly trimmed beard. His nose had clearly been broken a few times. His thick dark hair had a few streaks of gray through it, aging him slightly, but I only found myself more attracted to him. He shrugged his jacket off and I got an eyeful of a soaked shirt clinging to defined muscles.

Good Lord.

“Don't worry about it. I'll just get another," he commented offhandedly.

I felt like I had to do something. I did just completely destroy his shirt. “Please, at least let me get you another coffee. I feel awful."

He rolled broad shoulders and I swear my mouth watered a little bit. First I run into Roman last week and now I run into another stunningly gorgeous man? “If you insist," was all he said. But I felt like his lack of speech only made whatever he didn't say much louder.

His mouth was curved downward into a rather aggressive scowl which would typically send anyone else running away, but his shoulders were slack, relaxed. The unconscious language put me more at ease than his face did.

I wondered if perhaps the grimace was a defense mechanism. Perhaps developed at a young age–

Stop psychoanalyzing everyone. Get it together, Honey!

“I'm Honey," I greeted abruptly, outstretching my hand to shake his in greeting. He looked at my hand but didn't take it. I tried not to take that personally.

“Honey? Really?"

I flushed brightly. “My mom liked to tell me she craved everything honey-tasting when she was pregnant, so that became my name," I babbled nervously. “It was either that or Buffalo Wings, so I'm glad she chose Honey."

He watched me closely, still not smiling, but his tongue curved against the inside of his cheek, making it jut out a little in an expression I translated as amusement. “I'm Dante."

“Well, let's go get you that coffee, Dante. I probably already made you late for your meeting." I tucked my book under my arm, pocketing my phone to not distract myself anymore. The student I tripped with my book gave me a death glare as I mouthed, “Sorry."

“Meeting?" Dante asked.

“Do you wear suits for fun?" I commented, my favorite coffee shop coming into view.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I work in the area, but I don't have an office job."

“Oh, what do you do?"

“Finance," he stated without missing a beat. A slight fall in his voice. An alteration in his speech pattern. An odd thing to lie about, but he also hadn't talked long enough for me to determine his speech pattern.

“Oh?"

He diverted the conversation, another indication he was lying. I felt the urge to prod, but I didn't know this man. Why he was lying was none of my business. Maybe he was sneaking around. Or cheating on his wife.

I glanced down at his hands. No ring. Not married.

Unless he took it off, but I didn't see a tan line either.

“Are you a student here?" Dante asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“Yeah, I'm in my second year. Studying psychology with a focus on criminal psychology."

“Busy girl then," he commented, but for some reason it made my insides twist. I felt hyperaware of his gaze. It felt curious even if his scowl said otherwise. People can rarely hide the truth in their eyes.

I chuckled, trying to sound at ease even though my body was twisting and tightening against my control. “That's me. Busy. Busy."

There wasn't a long line at the coffee shop as we went up to the counter and I order my usual. Iced coffee with cream and a cream cheese danish. I went absolutely feral for their danishes. Homemade and always warm.

My favorite snack between classes. Dante spoke his order. Medium coffee black.

Nothing to dress it up.

“Have you tried their danishes?" I asked, gesturing to the glass case. “I'll buy you one. They'll change your life."

The cashier laughed. “High praise from you, Honey."

His eyebrow twitched and he said, “Fine. I'll take a strawberry one."

“Excellent choice," the cashier stated as he started to get our order ready. “Tap your chip when you're ready."

I nodded, pulling my wallet out of my pocket, but Dante beat me to it, swiping a platinum credit card. “Hey!" I objected. “Let me get that for you."

“I have more than enough money. I'm not letting a college kid buy me anything," Dante stated with a complete monotone.

I brushed some of my unruly hair back. “You didn't have to do that."

“I wanted to," he shrugged. The cashier came back with our orders and Dante handed me my coffee and danish. His fingertips brushed mine and small shocks erupted up my arm, leaving tingles prickling the hair on my arms. “Consider this a gift."

I raised both my eyebrows, brushing off the addicting sensation tingling my arms. “For dumping hot coffee all over you?"

The corner of his full pink lips curled up for a fraction of a second before it was gone. “For the conversation."

My breath escaped my lungs and I stood there completely dumbfounded. “You're…You're welcome."

“Now," he held up his paper sack housing a delicious danish, “this danish better change my life."

“It will," I promised.

His eyes flickered. “Nice talking to you, Honey."

“You too, Dante," I murmured, liking the way his name sounded. Coating my tongue like golden syrup. He nodded and turned away, exiting the coffee shop without another word. My eyes were glued to him as he left, helplessly gliding down his broad back to his narrow waist and muscular thighs.

“Huh," I muttered to myself as I brought my danish to my lips and took a bite. Flavor exploded across my tongue. Tangy. Creamy. Buttery. Yum. I looked over at the cashier and shouted, “You've outdone yourself, Steve!"

The cashier shot me a smile and waved me goodbye as I left. And thankfully, I still had a little time before class to enjoy my coffee.