It's Not About You by Olivia Reid Read Free Book Online Page B

abruptly and pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. With a nod to me he got up and answered it, taking the conversation, which was probably police business, outside.  
    Fatigue pressed down on my shoulders as I sat there. Once Kevin left I was headed home to a shower, some of my left over potato soup, and a good book.  
    I felt someone beside me before I saw their reflection in the window. I turned and looked up into the smiling face of Michael Oliver. "Mr. Oliver…is something wrong?"  
    "I tried to use the French Press," Michael said with the hint of a smile on his gorgeous lips. "And created something between John Carpenter's The Thing and road sludge."  
    I laughed. Couldn't stop myself. "That's pretty bad. Did you want your money back?"  
    "Oh no," He said as he widened his own grin. "I'm not an unreasonable man. I called to see if someone here could give me a quick lesson."
    And I assumed Tom had told him I'd do it. Which wasn't a bad thing, though the thought of standing near Michael while I taught him anything increased my blood pressure. But in a healthy way. The only bad thing was I didn't know how to use one. Kyle was a wizard at it, and his coffee always came out perfect.  
    I could relate to Michael's outcome because that was close to the same coffee I made. Kyle had given me a dramatic performance of a death scene after drinking a cup I'd pressed.  
    "Well, I'm afraid I'm not a great teacher at the Press…" I said as I stood and abruptly got caught up in my chair when it wouldn't naturally scoot back. The occupant at the table behind me had been right up against my back and I didn't know it, so when my chair didn't move, I lost my balance.  
    Michael stepped in close and gently grabbed both my upper arms, preventing me from embarrassing myself. The guy sitting too close? Not so much.  
    "Hey! Watch it—you damn near pinched my finger." He was young, probably Tanae's age, and full of himself. I'd seen his kind before. He was dressed nice, with his tablet on the table. One of the kids of privilege is what I nicknamed them after a week of running this shop. The regulars that came in, took their same seat, dressed nice, remained on their tablets and their laptops and phones for eight hours and then disappeared. They bought coffee and snacks and paid for them with credit cards.  
    Nobody knew what it was this people did to make a living, and right now, I wasn't in the mood. "And you had your chair jammed into mine. You've got a foot of space between you and the table. It was an accident."  
    "Then you should say you're sorry." The little shit actually started to block my way.  
    Michael slipped in and with a grace and speed I hadn't anticipated, put his own hand on the young man's shoulder. "It was an accident. Leave it at that. No harm was done. I mean, do you really want to alienate the store manager?"  
    I was sort of looking at this as a possible problem and going over in my head all those things George wanted me to do in case of customer ass-holery.  
    But to my surprise the customer glared at Michael but didn't retaliate.  
    "We got a problem here?" Kevin's voice was smooth, deep, and had just the right hint of irritation to it. When I looked at him, he was just behind Michael, his hands on his hips, his gun and holster visible as well as his badge hanging on the wallet around his neck.  
    The customer's gaze slid from Michael to Kevin and then he held up his hands. "Naw…naw. Nothing here. Just having a bad day is all."  
    I winked at Kevin before I maneuvered my way out of the little huddle toward the counter. I spotted Mary coming out of the back room, her apron gone. It was end of shift for her. "Sir, would you like a brownie on the house? They're fresh made."  
    The kid's face lit up like a birthday boy looking at his presents and nodded. "That would be great. Thanks."  
    Kevin and Michael moved away from the table as I wound around the counter past Mary to get to the case. "Thanks