Melt Your Headaches, Call It Work

Starbucks was empty, like it usually was at eleven thirty in the morning. The coffee rush was over and it was too early for evening and afternoon caffeine. Jon, hair mused, was sitting on the cash register counter while I sat across from him on the floor, my back pressed against the cabinets.

“Have I mentioned my hate for this job?” I sighed, plucking at a lock of hair. “And how the heck can girls tell if they have split ends or not?”

“I dunno, something about the ends being split,” Jon shrugged, tapping his finger on the wood.

“Uh, no shit Sherlock!” I snorted. “That’s obvious.”

“Hey, you’re the girl, not me,” he defended, holding his hands up. “No need to go all PMS-y on me!”

“I’m not PMSing, douche.” Standing up, I brushed off the seat of my pants and joined him on the counter. “I’m bored.”

“That’s nice to know,” he rolled his eyes before grabbing a packet of Madeline’s and ripping the package open. “Want one?”

“You paying?” I questioned, taking one and biting into the fluffy cake. “Yummy.” The bell rang and we jumped off the counter, sighing.

“Hiyah, Libby!” Brendon’s overly cheerful voice echoed through the tine coffee shop as he pranced over to me. “I brought you a celebratory smoothie.”

“Thanks Brendon,” I grinned, taking the Styrofoam container from his hands. “That was sweet of you. But what’s the celebration for?” Before Brendon could respond, Jon swooped down, snagging the straw in between his teeth and sucking down a mouthful. I punched him in the shoulder, pulling it away from him.

“That’s really good,” he commented, swallowing quickly. “What’s in it?” Unfazed, Brendon responded while seating his apple bottom on the counter.

“Peaches, strawberry sorbet, and a dash of lemonade,” he grinned, flashing his brilliantly white and straight teeth. “I’m Brendon, by the way.”

“I’m Jon.” Jon stuck his hand out, shaking Brendon’s. “So, what brings you here?”

“I’m just bringing Libby a celebratory smoothie,” he shrugged. “Because, you know, she got the job.” This caught me off guard, considering I had just been sipping my smoothie and eating a Madeline, not expecting to hear that. I started choking, hacking and gagging before tumbling off the counter onto the floor. Shooting back up, I stared at Brendon, shock written across my face.

“I got the job?” I rasped, a slow grin spreading across my cheeks. “I got the job?”

“Wait, Ryan didn’t call you yet?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “Oh shit! I didn’t say anything, okay? No! You didn’t get the job, I was lying!”

“Yeah, not falling for that!” I shook my head, still grinning. “Hell yeah! Moving out of my parent’s house!”

“God Libby, don’t act all upset, or anything,” Jon teased.

“When Ryan calls you have to act like you didn’t know, okay? He made me promise not to tell you, but I though he’d’ve called by now!” Brendon lamented. “I’m normally really good at keep secrets, really!”

“I believe you,” I replied solemnly. “But seriously, I GOT THE JOB!” I broke out dancing, while Jon shook his head.

"Please ignore the freakshow," he teased, pushing me sideways. I stuck my tongue out at him, pouting.

“Shit, time to go,” Brendon cursed, glancing at his watch. Jon and I exchanged curious glances. He lifted his eyes and blushed. “There’s this girl, and she always comes to the shack at eleven forty-seven, no fail. So I make sure I’m there.”

“Aw,” I cooed, resting my head on Jon’s shoulder (Who totally was cooing, but in a manly, “secretive” way). “What’s her name?”

“Elsie,” he admitted. “She’s absolutely gorgeous, too.” Brendon began rambling about how she always ordered the same thing, and that she had a British accent, so when she said his name, it sounded one hundred times better. He cut his rambling short with another glance at his watch.

“Shit! Gotta run, don’t want to be late,” he called as he sprinted out the door. “Bye!” As Brendon left the store, narrowly dodging traffic, two men came in.

“Hey, Libs, do you mind if I take a break?” Jon whispered, wrapping an arm around my waist. “I promised Mel I'd call her on her break which is right now."

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” I nodded waving him off. The men approached the counter, laughing and joking.

“What can I get you guys?” I asked, plastering a fake grin on my face.

“How about you, me, and a secluded room?” one smirked leaning in closer. He was tall with Spanish features such as tanned skin, black silky skin, and a tiny accent.

“Charming,” I smirked. “To drink?”

“Well,” the man continued, staring at my chest. “…Jon?”

“Yeah, you got a problem?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“None at all,” the man recovered smoothly. “I’ll have a black coffee with extra sugar, senorita.”
“Sure, cupcake,” I replied cheekily. “Name?”

“Gabe,” he purred, leaning in closer. “But you can call me--”

“That’s enough, Gabe,” another sighed, elbowing him away. “Sorry about him, we forget to give him is meds.”

“It’s okay,” I half giggled. “What can I get you?”

“Just a hot chocolate,” he replied. “Grande.”

“Gotcha. Name?”

“Alex,” Alex replied. “So, if Jon your real name?”

“Nope,” I smirked, turning around to make the drinks. “Jonathon is.”

[&awkward]

My parents, like always, were nervous about me taking the job. My dad, to say the least, was very skeptical. So when the day before I moved into the Ross’s house rolled around, my dad met me at the breakfast table with a thick folder.

"I'm just letting you know that I had a background check on this Ross guy," he informed me. "I'm not going to let you read it, because every man has his own right to privacy. But I just want you to know that he's safe, okay?"

“You got a background check done on him?” I asked in disbelief, staring at the collection of papers. “Seriously?”

“Of course I did,” he replied, gruff. “You’re my baby girl, even though you act more like a boy. You’re still my baby, and I have to make sure nothing bad’s going to happen to you.”

“Aw, thanks daddy!” I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. Pulling my head away, I stared up at him. “How many of these checks have you had pulled for me?”

“Let’s just say, I know more things about Jon than his own mother does,” he chuckled, patting the top of my head. “C’mon, Libs, we’ve got a lot of work to get done.”

“Like what? Dad, what do you know about Jon?” I demanded, following him form the kitchen. “Dad!”