Here's chapter two~
It's a tad bit shorter than I wanted, but
I'm pleased with how it turned out, and I
hope you guys are too!
Enjoy!
Old Habits Die Hard
Chapter Two
The café was a quaint little place, nestled between a hair salon and a Thai take-out joint. Nat parked his Corolla on the curb and stepped out, clicking the button behind his back to lock it before pocketing his keys. Rave had given him the address and told him to meet him there at 4:00, which suited Nat fine, for they always had Mondays off from football practice. His last class had let out at 3:30, giving him just enough time to high-tail it over to the café, statistic formulas still buzzing around in his head. Being a Business major had its perks, but statistics class was not one of them.
Pushing the door open, Nat found that the inside of the café was dim, giving him a relaxed, cool vibe. There were little fountains against the walls creating the sound of trickling water, reminding Nat of a rainforest. After a quick-once over of the layout, he spotted Rave at the farthest table, positioned next to the wall, sipping what Nat suspected to be a Chai Latte. He sauntered over, catching the brunet's gaze as he approached.
"Nice outfit," Nat snickered, eyeing the tights and puffed-out sleeves that Rave wore.
"I came straight from a rehearsal," he snapped indignantly. "Henry the IV. I am Prince Hal."
The conceit in Rave's voice made Nat smirk. He pulled a chair out to sit across from Rave, meeting his gaze. "So, I take it you're still a Theatre major then?"
"Yes, with a Music minor."
Nat ordered his coffee when the waitress came over, then he watched Rave's eyes flit over the stack of papers sitting in front of him on the glass table.
"What's that?"
"My script."
"Script, huh? Why don't you gimme that and I'll help ya read lines like we used to? You be Prince Hal and I'll be everybody else–"
"Samuel will read my lines with me."
Nat fell silent for a moment, watching Rave tuck the script into his side bag delicately. His mind continued to linger on fond memories from what seemed like forever ago. Lunches taken from the cafeteria to eat backstage in the abandoned theatre, line-reading for upcoming performances, Rave chiding him when he goofed off, stolen kisses here and there. Nat pulled himself from his reveries and leaned back in his chair, fixing golden eyes on the brunet.
"So, tell me about this Samuel dude. Did you find your Prince Charming, Brooding Beauty?"
Rave shot him a nasty glare before taking a leisurely sip of his coffee, holding the sleeved cup in both hands. He set it down and gazed across the café.
"He's tall, dark-brown hair, long legs. An artist. He paints." Rave paused, and Nat felt threatened for the first time in a long while. 'A tall, sensitive, mysterious artist? How'm I supposed to compete with that?' Rave's eyes wandered back to him. "We share an apartment in the city."
Nat swallowed, trying to rid his throat of the thickness that was building up. "Is he a student too?"
The waitress delivered his coffee, and Rave waited until she was gone to answer the question. "No. He's already graduated."
'He's older, too? Fuck.'
"And what of you, Nathan? Still fucking breaking hearts, obviously."
Nat rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a small laugh. "Nah, just... tryin' to get through school and keep my sanity."
"Still a Business major?"
"Yeah. Pops wants me to take over the company someday."
Rave's brows lifted in mock concern. "That poor business is fucking doomed."
Nat snorted, taking a sip of his coffee and choosing to ignore the snide comment. A silence settled between the two, heavy and uncomfortable. Nat recalled a time when he couldn't get Rave to shut up around him.
"We should hang out more," Nat blurted. Rave regarded him with a mildly apathetic expression.
"Should we?"
Nat smirked. "C'mon, you know you miss me."
Rave sighed and looked down at his latte, failing to deny Nathan's statement. He tapped his fingers lightly on the tabletop.
"Like I said, I have Sundays and Mondays off..."
"Maybe I'll just have to visit you at work, then."
With a roll of his eyes, Rave pulled his phone from his pocket as it chimed quietly. Nat watched his eyes scan the text message, and then he returned it to his pocket without responding, standing up quickly. He pulled his bag onto his shoulder. There was something off about his face.
"I'll see you later, Goldberg."
And with that, he rushed out of the café, leaving behind an utterly confused Nat and his latte. After a moment, Nat grabbed the still-half-full drink and hurried out after Rave.
Outside, it had begun to rain. Nat spotted Rave across the street, opening the door to a silver BMW.
"Rave! You forgot your coffee!"
Golden-brown eyes snapped up at the sound of his name being called, and he froze with the door wide open. On the driver's side of the car, a dark-haired figure turned to face him. 'Samuel. Must be.'
Samuel turned back to look at Rave, and Nathan heard a loud voice, too deep to be Rave's. He was unable to make out the words, but Rave looked slightly panicked by them. His mouth moved, speaking words inaudible to Nat, and he shook his head quickly. There was more yelling, insistent and aggravated. Bewildered, Nat watched as Rave's eyes lifted to him, almost warningly, before he sank to get into the car. The BMW sped off, leaving Nat on the sidewalk with a half-finished Chai Latte.
It was late Wednesday night. Rave's hands worked mindlessly, pouring and mixing alcohol and other liquids. Bloody Mary, Piña Colada, Kamikaze, Pineapple Mimosas. All drinks he could make with his eyes closed. It had been a relatively quiet night – quiet for a bar, anyway. Rave had been spared of any pricks brave enough to throw a lame fucking pick-up line his way. 'Word probably got around.'
Business was slow and he was taking a break, leaning on the counter with a hip pushed out when he felt a hand snake around his waist. Out of reaction, he slammed the heel of his boot into the shin of his assaulter.
"Owwww! Motherf–..."
Rave turned around slowly, fixing Nathan with a bemused gaze as the teal-haired male doubled over, holding his leg, face twisted in agony.
"What'd you do that for?!"
"You shouldn't fucking sneak up on people," Rave responded matter-of-factly. Nat winced, standing up straight.
"Can I get a Gin and Tonic?"
The brunet smirked, turning to retreat to the bar. Nat's eyes dropped, watching the sway of his hips as he walked; almost a wiggle.
"Drinking during the season... That's against the rules, isn't it, Goldberg? You do still play that barbaric fucking sport, right?"
"Yeah, I still play. And hey, what coach doesn't know won't hurt him," Nat grinned, pain fading from his shin as he wandered after Rave, the bar counter separating them. He watched idly as swift hands prepared his drink. When Rave pushed it toward him, he handed over a $20. "Keep the change."
Rave's lip curled at Nat's wink, but he pocketed the bill all the same, wiping the counter clean with a damp washcloth. "Money won't change anything, Goldberg. I'm not a fucking prostitute."
"Never said you were," Nat murmured, watching Rave with a wistful gaze. Both were silent for a moment, Rave avoiding Nat's eyes that never left him. "What happened to us, James?"
Rave's eyes snapped up at Nathan's question, meeting the surprisingly serious golden gaze.
"You don't remember?" Rave sneered. Nat winced slightly, dreading the inevitable outburst that he had provoked. Rave rounded to face him, eyes alight with wrath. "Well, let me refresh your memory, Goldberg. Everything was fine and fucking dandy until we went off to university. Then, you wanted nothing to do with me. You ignored my calls and texts, and every time I did talk to you, you fed me some bullshit excuse to get out of seeing me. So I gave up on you, Nathan. I gave up on you because you gave up on us. Ring any fucking bells?!"
A blond guy who had approached the bar in the midst of Rave's explosion stood to the side awkwardly, waiting to order his drink. Rave's eyes left Nathan's, and he took a deep breath before addressing the man. Customers always had to be treated with courtesy.
"Sorry about that. What can I get you?"
Nat lingered, sipping his drink, until the man left with his whiskey. Rave, who was blatantly ignoring him, went about straightening the bottles on the shelf.
"James, we could–"
"Leave, Nathan."
"We could try again," Nat murmured persistently. Rave was unresponsive for a moment, fingers lingering on the cool, smooth glass of the bottles. Finally, he turned to face the teal-haired athlete, once second short from a headache.
"And what, Nathan? We'd have to fucking start all over again."
"No we wouldn't. We still have everything."
Rave sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Yep, here came the headache. "None of this matters, Goldberg. I'm engaged."
Nat leaned against the counter. "Speaking of monsieur rich artiste, what was with Monday? Not too keen on introducing me?"
The moment his words left his mouth, Nat noticed a change in Rave's demeanor. The brunet avoided his eyes, hesitating in his answer.
"Samuel was late for work," he said shortly.
Nat lifted his brows. "Yeah, he seemed pretty pissed off."
"He was in a fucking hurry," Rave snapped. Nat winced at his defensiveness. Sure, Rave had always had a short fuse – especially when it came to Nathan – but he usually wasn't so terse with him. Deciding to drop it for the time being, Nat leaned over the counter toward Rave.
"I wanna take you out for your birthday."
Rave raised his eyes, skeptical of the sudden change of subject. "... What?"
"I said, I wanna take you out for your birthday. How about Sunday?"
"No."
Nat was unfazed by the blatant rejection. "C'mon. My treat."
With an exasperated sigh, Rave took orders from the waitress and began mixing drinks. He lifted his eyes to look at Nat; waiting there persistently. Clearly he wasn't going to get anything done if he didn't get rid of the male. His expression softened ever so slightly.
"Sunday. Pick me up at three. I'll text you the address."
With that, he returned to his bartending shift. Nat grinned to himself as he took his leave, exiting the bar and stepping into the fresh night air.