Heartbreak Café Read online

  Heartbreak Café

  A.R. Perry

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Also by A.R. Perry

  About the Author

  Legendary Books

  Heartbreak Café

  A.R. Perry

  * * *

  Copyright © 2019 by A.R. Perry

  All rights reserved

  Copyeditor: Anne-Marie Rutella

  Cover and interior designed by: Lost Atlantis Designs

  * * *

  All rights reserved. This was self-published by A.R Perry under Legendary Books. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Michelle Bryant is crying.

  Not cute crying either like I expected.

  Red-faced. Puffy eyes. Splotchy skin crying.

  Not that I blame her. Braden DiMarco just dumped her like a sack of garbage in public. Even had the nerve to use that lame-ass line where they claim it’s all them when everybody knows what they really mean is you.

  Not sure when that saying came about, but watching Michelle sniffle and ask why over and over, I think it should be retired.

  Why Braden would break up with one of the girls rated in the top five hottest category in last year’s disgusting poll is beyond me. Maybe he wants to fly through the remaining four before graduation. If he’s anything like his best friend, he’ll be with the next girl by tomorrow.

  I try and fail to avert my gaze as he gets up to leave and press down the overpowering desire to kick him square in the balls. My guess is he drove her here and then up and left without a backward glance.

  Like every other time, I have to fight the urge to console the poor girls whose hearts get ripped out. See, funny story—well, funny depending on who you ask—the jocks at school have a habit of bringing their girlfriends here to dump. I’ve dubbed the place Heartbreak Café, but since the owner said it would be bad for business, he’s opted to keep the name he chose. Whatever. I still think he’s missing out on a golden opportunity to roll with it and make the joint an official breakup location.

  Michelle runs to the bathroom, leaving her phone on the table. With a sigh, I step out from behind the counter to retrieve it before someone else swipes it. Girl already got her heart broken, the last thing she needs is a stolen phone. Wouldn’t be the worst thing. Save her from going through all the photos her and that dillhole Braden took together.

  She should delete them and move on.

  Clean break.

  It’s not as if high school love is worthwhile. How many people stay together after graduation? Two percent? Yeah, not worth the trouble.

  Shredder, AKA my boss, walks out from the back, eyeing the phone in my hand. On a normal day, she’s aggravating, and my current mood makes me want to stick her head in the oven and turn it on high. I make a show of grabbing a sticky note to jot down Michelle’s name in case I’m not up front when she comes out. After securing it to the phone with a rubber band, I drop it in the lost and found.

  “Customer left it. She’s in the restroom.”

  Shredder, real name Melody, which is way too sweet-sounding for how much of a hag she is, gives me a curt nod before heading into the back. No doubt she saw me on the camera with the phone and wanted to catch me doing something against policy. She’s never liked me, so it’s her mission to write me up. Good luck. I’m too efficient and the owner, Mr. Lee, loves me too much. Then again, he likes her too so I have to wonder about his sanity.

  “Ready for school tomorrow, Stella?” Zari asks as she finishes wiping down the espresso machine. She was so focused on the task, she missed the drama out front.

  “Ready? Sure. Willing? Not so much.” I grab a rag from the counter and busy myself so Shredder keeps her annoying butt in the back office and out of my hair. “Kind of like asking someone if they are ready for waterboarding.”

  Zari laughs, shaking her head. “Come on. It’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad for you.” I raise my eyebrow giving her the look. The are-you-out-of-your-freaking-mind look.

  See, there is no way in any high school dimension that Zari and I would have become friends if we didn’t work at the same place almost every day. She’s beautiful, the exotic kind with big soulful brown eyes that make you hate her just a smidge. On top of everything she’s popular yet somehow not bitchy and to me that’s her best trait. Her parents run a free clinic in Salt Lake. Both doctors. Both geniuses who passed those genes down to their only daughter.

  As for me. I’m short and chunky and so bitter that most days I find people hard to deal with let alone like them. My dad dipped out on Mom when I was three and thanks to that jackoff, she’s worked two jobs ever since to make sure we have a safe place to live and food in our bellies. She never went to college. Never thought she had to because her man would take care of her.

  And right there is the reason I have some of the highest grades in our class. Falling just below Brainiac Zari. I keep my nose in a book and far away from boys and their one-track minds. Experiences has solidified my rules. Why I’ve only ever found myself on the receiving end of a bad breakup line once and I plan on keeping it that way until I graduate college. Unfortunately, college comes after high school, which means I have another year of bullshit.

  “You know.” Zari moves to my side, wiping down the syrup bottles as she goes. “If you ever tried for one day to be nice to people, you might realize high school isn’t that bad.”

  “Seems like a lot of work,” I snort.

  Zari’s giggle is cut short when her gaze lands on someone behind us. I spin around, feeling my stomach plummet when I meet Michelle’s red-rimmed eyes. No doubt she thought we were laughing at her. I might be standoffish, but I’m not a total bitch.

  “Y-you left your phone.” I reach into the drawer and pull it out, offering her what I hope is a reassuring smile. Judging by the way her eyes narrow as she snatches the phone out of my hand, I’m guessing I failed.

  She storms off without a word, the annoying bells above the door jingling as she throws it open.

  “What the hell happened?” Zari asks, freezing mid wipe.

  “Braden dumped her.”

  “Oh no.” Zari’s hand flies to her mouth and somehow the over-the-top gesture passes for sympathy.

  “Yup. Another one bites the dust.”

  “Man, right before school starts too. That’s gotta suck.”

  “You wouldn’t know, would you?” I crouch to count how many jugs of milk I’ll have to grab. My shift is almost over, thank God.

  “I can’t help that I found a good one.”

  Scoffing, I stare up at her. “Zane’s the only boy you’ve ever dated. How the hell are you so certain
he’s a good one?”

  She shrugs. “I just know.”

  And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you end up with a toddler, alone.

  Mom is gone when I return home. No shock there. After six means she’s deep into the dinner rush at the local steak house.

  I find the leftover lasagna from the night before and pop it into the microwave. Boxed dinners are our go-to. Most of the time we don’t even eat together, and since neither one of us inherited the cooking gene, we live off this junk much to my mother’s dismay.

  Callie, my calico cat—clever I know—rubs against my shins in her daily greeting. I scratch her back with my foot, laughing as her purr revs up in response. This will be the only love I get until tomorrow, so I soak it up. Callie is a rescue. I found her on the streets when I was seven. She pretty much likes only me and by that I mean in doses. Usually right when I wake up and when I get home. Both times not so ironically before I feed her.

  The microwave goes off, making her jump and scurry away. The poor thing has trust issues to boot and can’t stand loud noises. Thankfully, she doesn’t hold a grudge and will find her way into the living room after her little heart calms down.

  I plop down on our old worn-in couch, readying myself for a much needed Netflix binge when my phone chimes in my pocket. It takes some shuffling, but I manage to pull it out without spilling the hot plate of food all over my lap. Devon, another classmate that I wouldn’t call a friend even though he insists, sent me a link to Michelle’s Twitter page. The boy loves his gossip. Again, it’s the reason I wouldn’t say friend. More like informant. When you can’t trust someone to not repeat every word you say, they can never don the friendship title.

  Even though I have a hunch I know what, or I should say who, this is all about, I click on the link. Sure enough, I scroll through the page catching up as Michelle goes on an epic rant. Does the girl not have a best friend to stop her from doing something so catastrophic? Tomorrow is going to be hell on Earth for her. Not only has she given the blow-by-blow of the breakup, but she goes after several of the other jocks at our school, giving up details of their recent flings and relationships.

  If her goal was to ostracize herself and make senior year unbearable, she succeeded.

  I don’t reply to Devon. I’m sure he’s busy blasting out this juicy shit to everyone else he knows. Instead, I shovel a forkful of lukewarm lasagna in my mouth and pull up a show I’ve seen all the way through at least ten times. It’s my go-to when I’m in a funk and I will throw the biggest hissy fit if Netflix ever takes it down.

  Two hours later I’m starring off into space as Netflix asks me if I’m still watching. Not sure who came up with that, but it annoys the crap out of me. Nothing but a giant reminder that I have no life and can sit for hours staring at a screen. Salt in a wound.

  With a growl, I roll off the couch and stalk down the hall to my room. Might as well get eight hours of sleep. Tomorrow is coming so I might as well be rested for it.

  My alarm blares at me, screeching an ungodly noise as I fumble, trying to make it stop. I nearly drop it in the process when my mom bursts into my room with an enormous smile on her face.

  Breathing a throaty sigh, I sit up. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Good morning!” she sings, ignoring my obvious bad mood. “Got something for your last first day of school!”

  I want to remind her that I will have first days in college, but whatever, she’s too happy to kill her vibe. “What?” I rub a palm over my eye to clear away the remaining sleep clogging my vision.

  She pulls a neon yellow top from behind her back and the second I catch the flower pattern, I almost choke on my tongue.

  “Saw this, and I had to get it. You look so great in this color.”

  Who the hell looks good in yellow? I try my best to not to let my horror bleed onto my face, but when her elated expression falls, I know I’m doing a crappy job.

  “You don’t like it.” Her shoulders sag along with her smile.

  “It’s umm…” I scratch my head, attempting to come up with a better word than hideous. “Bright.”

  Her smile falls more if that’s possible. “That’s what I liked. All you ever wear are somber colors.”

  First, they’re slimming. And second, they help me blend in not stick out. I hate sticking out.

  “I like dark colors, Mom.” Standing up I reach for the shirt. She spent hard-earned money, the least I can do is try to like it.

  Her smile returns when it’s in my hand. Unfortunately, bringing it closer doesn’t change the fact that it’s freaking floral.

  “Will you wear it today?”

  Freaking A. My head hangs as I try to breathe through panic. I was hoping to get away with wearing it on the weekend when no one would see me, but not at school. Not on the first day.

  “Please,” Mom pouts, jutting out her lower lip for good measure.

  And like an idiot I nod. Why? Because I love my mom to death. Enough to do anything, including wearing a hideous shirt to school where I will be made fun of.

  Devon is waiting for me at the edge of the parking lot with two cups of coffee. I don’t miss the raised eyebrow as I approach, but I try my best to act nonchalant. After my mom left, I threw on a black cardigan hoping to mute the bright-ass color. Apparently, it didn’t work.

  “What’s with the getup?” he asks, passing me the larger cup.

  “Mom.”

  He nods. No need to say more. If anyone knows about meddling parents, it’s Devon. His dad has been on him since freshman year trying to get him to play basketball. Devon, being the drama king he is, prefers being on the stage. A never-ending battle, that so far, Devon is winning but only because he performs so badly each year during tryouts. He’s so convincing that the coach and most of the school thinks he’s terrible. I’ve seen him play at the park though, he’s good. Really good. He would just rather do it for fun.

  “So this morning…” He launches into the drama breakdown that happened in the few minutes we’ve all been back. I couldn’t care less, but I throw out the obligatory uh-huh without taking in any of the details until we reach our lockers.

  Devon spins toward me as I twist the sticky knob on the lock. “What period is your lunch?”

  “Fourth.”

  “Damn, I’m fifth. Well, I’ll fill you in during gym. You have sixth period, right?”

  I nod. No clue how he knew that. Though I shouldn’t be surprised.

  “Okay, see ya!” He shuffles into the crowd, giving one of our classmates a high five as he goes.

  Stupid locker sticks for the third time and I growl, kicking it for good measure.

  “Check out She Hulk over there. Poor locker doesn’t stand a chance.”

  I spin toward the voice, locking on Braden who shakes his head and gives Jesse Pitts a hard shove. Jesse. Of course. I roll my eyes and turn back to my infuriating locker. I’ve known Jesse since elementary school. We dated freshman year.

  He was the first and last serious boyfriend I had. Now I date nonexclusively. And by that I mean not at all. Not unless you count all my book boyfriends, which my mom doesn’t. According to her that’s insanity. But reality is, falling for a fictional character is easier on the heart than falling for a flesh and blood guy who will eventually steamroll you.

  After another try the locker pops open. I toss what I won’t need inside and slam the door shut. At least my first class is English. I’m good at English and it will be enough of a distraction to forget how uncomfortable I am in this stupid shirt and Jesse’s annoyingly perfect face that I want to punch whenever I see it.

  Zari catches up to me in the hall as I make my way to first period. Her eyes dip to the shirt then back to my face, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Mom?” she asks before busting out laughing.

  “Uh-huh. No guilt trip needed either.” I toss my head back and let out a long breath.

  “It looks great. Brings out the natural honey color t
o your hair.”

  I roll my eyes. “It also makes me look like a bumblebee’s wet dream.”

  “What class do you have first?” she asks, ignoring my statement because she’s not one to talk even the least bit dirty.

  “English.”

  “Boo. I have Spanish. Lunch?”

  “Fourth.”

  “Me too! See you then.” Before turning down the left hallway she blows me an air-kiss, her long hair fanning out behind her.

  I shuffle into the classroom, keeping my gaze locked on the ground. Don’t know why, but I’ve always hated the way everyone’s eyes turn toward the door when people walk in. It’s the most annoying thing and the reason why I like to be the first to class. That didn’t happen thanks to my stupid locker.

  With my head down to avoid eye contact, I don’t notice the person standing inside the doorway until I run straight into their back.

  “Oof.” My coffee tips to the side, falling from my hand as I try to steady myself. Hot liquid splatters everything within a three-foot radius including Mr. Thatcher’s desk, my sandal-clad feet and the jeans of the person I slammed into.

  “Watch it!” a gruff voice snaps.

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  A strong hand steadies me right as my foot slips in the coffee. The next moment includes a deafening applause accompanied by roaring cheers and me almost face-planting.

  Awesome.

  Perfect first day.

  “You okay?”

  My gaze flicks up and lands on the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen, one of which has a large fleck of brown on the edge. Unfortunately, they are set in a face I still want to punch.