Wrong
Page 2
"Noooo," I respond slowly. "I don't think the gynecologist will expect me to be bald. Right?"
"Holy fuck. This brownie. Now this is good. Orgasmic good. How much are we charging for these things?" I'm guessing she doesn't care because she doesn't stop talking or check the shelf tag for a price. "Oh my God. Do you want a bite?" I shake my head no and she continues.
"I can't wait for you to have an orgasm. Not a brownie orgasm, a penis orgasm. Which you won't have this weekend unless Mike is really, really talented. Which he's not old enough to be, trust me. But that fucker better make you come with his tongue or fingers before he sticks it in you. ’Cause that is not going to feel great the first time or two. So yeah, Mike might want you bald. I'll hook you up with my girl Leah. Her waxing skills, amaze."
She drops the half-eaten brownie on the counter and pulls her cell phone from her pocket while I’m distracted with a customer. By the time I finish making a medium vanilla hazelnut latte and turn back to Everly, she's finished her phone call and gone back to devouring the brownie.
"You're all set. Thursday. I texted you the address. You're welcome."
"Everly! I never agreed to get waxed."
"Don't be a pussy. The gynecologist is more uncomfortable than a waxing. You're going to love it, trust me. The friction is so much better during sex. God." She smiles. "Plus even in your jeans. I swear you're going to be horny all day Friday with your bare vagina rubbing against your jeans."
I shake my head. "This conversation is so wrong."
"What are you girls talking about? Naked pillow fights at the dorm?"
"Shut up, Jeff." Everly doesn't even look up from her brownie.
"You can't speak to me that way, Everly. I'm your manager, it's insubordination." Jeff is a senior at the university, just like we are. His father owns this little chain of coffee shops and gave Jeff this one to manage.
"You can't sexually harass us either, yet you do. Why don't I conference-call your daddy and we can discuss my sexual harassment lawsuit while you lodge your insubordination complaint?”
"Fine," Jeff mutters. "At least get off the counter. And write down all the food you steal on the stale list. My inventory is always off when you work." He turns around and heads back into his office. It's not really an office, it's a desk he set up in the stock room—complete with an executive chair he picked up at Costco one weekend, dragging it through the back door like he was setting up shop to run a small empire, not manage other college students at a coffee house.
Everly hops off the counter muttering under her breath. "That guy's got a future ahead of him. In middle management, where he'll motivate no one and annoy everyone."
"He's not that bad, Everly." She gives me a look that says she disagrees. "Okay, he is that bad," I agree.
"Truth." She goes back to filling the one-pound bags of coffee and thankfully drops the topic of waxing. I'm not sure I intend to keep that appointment. The one I have later this morning is enough to think about.
Chapter 2
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of lattes, iced mochas and a steady stream of both commuting students headed to campus and professionals headed to nearby businesses. After clocking out I make my way to the nearest bus stop on foot. I have less than an hour to make my appointment at the student clinic and I don't want to miss it. Condoms are easy enough to get, but getting a prescription for birth control requires an appointment and an exam, and if I miss this appointment there's no telling how long it will be until the next opening.
The university has a shuttle system that loops around the campus, but Grind Me is several blocks outside the transit loop, hence why our undergraduate student customers are few. It's cool outside with fall well under way and I wrap my jacket tighter around me as I hustle to the bus stop, grateful that a bus is pulling up just as I arrive. The buses run every fifteen to twenty minutes so I'm glad to have caught this one.
The shuttle bus is fairly empty, it being late morning. Students are already in class or still sleeping. The clinic is only a few stops away on Market Street, between my Grind Me stop and my dorm. I've only used the clinic once before, freshman year, when a case of strep throat made its way through half my dorm.
It's quiet when I arrive, the receptionist looking bored while a couple of students wait for appointments, passing the time on their smartphones. She hands me a clipboard filled with forms and instructs me to complete them and sign every page before bringing them back to her.
I take a seat and hurry my way through the questionnaire. Name, student ID, phone, allergies, medications, family medical history, date of last period. Still less invasive than an average shift at Grind Me with Everly. The thought makes me smirk. I finish and slide the pen under the clip before returning the entire thing to the receptionist and sitting back down to wait.
I'm relieved when a nurse calls my name moments later. Hopefully this will go quickly and I'll be out of here in the next half hour with a prescription in hand.
The nurse is a friendly-looking woman with a big smile wearing zebra-print scrubs who tells me to call her Marie. She starts chatting the minute I'm through the door, leading me to an exam room where she gets my weight and blood pressure before explaining that I will need to remove all my clothing including underwear. I'm not sure who attempts a gynecologist appointment with their underwear on, but I don't say anything.
"What brings you in to see the doctor today, Sophie?" Marie peers at me over her clipboard, smiling kindly. I bet her grandkids love her. She's got three. They spent the weekend at her house and wore her out. She's told me all about it while taking my vitals, gesturing and laughing at their antics.
"Birth control. I'd like to get on the pill." I try to sound confident, despite my embarrassment at speaking about my potential sex life with her. She reminds me of my grandmother, the woman who raised me. My mom had me her freshman year of college and died before I was two.
"Good, you're a smart girl. It's always wise to take charge of your birth control." The nurse nods approvingly. "Have you been to a gynecologist before?"
"No."
"Well, then you're in luck. We have Dr. Miller on Tuesday mornings. He's the chief of obstetrics at the hospital, but he volunteers here a few hours a week. Otherwise you'd be stuck with one of our general practitioners and they're not known for being gentle. I'll give you a minute to undress and then I'll be back with the doctor."
"Holy fuck. This brownie. Now this is good. Orgasmic good. How much are we charging for these things?" I'm guessing she doesn't care because she doesn't stop talking or check the shelf tag for a price. "Oh my God. Do you want a bite?" I shake my head no and she continues.
"I can't wait for you to have an orgasm. Not a brownie orgasm, a penis orgasm. Which you won't have this weekend unless Mike is really, really talented. Which he's not old enough to be, trust me. But that fucker better make you come with his tongue or fingers before he sticks it in you. ’Cause that is not going to feel great the first time or two. So yeah, Mike might want you bald. I'll hook you up with my girl Leah. Her waxing skills, amaze."
She drops the half-eaten brownie on the counter and pulls her cell phone from her pocket while I’m distracted with a customer. By the time I finish making a medium vanilla hazelnut latte and turn back to Everly, she's finished her phone call and gone back to devouring the brownie.
"You're all set. Thursday. I texted you the address. You're welcome."
"Everly! I never agreed to get waxed."
"Don't be a pussy. The gynecologist is more uncomfortable than a waxing. You're going to love it, trust me. The friction is so much better during sex. God." She smiles. "Plus even in your jeans. I swear you're going to be horny all day Friday with your bare vagina rubbing against your jeans."
I shake my head. "This conversation is so wrong."
"What are you girls talking about? Naked pillow fights at the dorm?"
"Shut up, Jeff." Everly doesn't even look up from her brownie.
"You can't speak to me that way, Everly. I'm your manager, it's insubordination." Jeff is a senior at the university, just like we are. His father owns this little chain of coffee shops and gave Jeff this one to manage.
"You can't sexually harass us either, yet you do. Why don't I conference-call your daddy and we can discuss my sexual harassment lawsuit while you lodge your insubordination complaint?”
"Fine," Jeff mutters. "At least get off the counter. And write down all the food you steal on the stale list. My inventory is always off when you work." He turns around and heads back into his office. It's not really an office, it's a desk he set up in the stock room—complete with an executive chair he picked up at Costco one weekend, dragging it through the back door like he was setting up shop to run a small empire, not manage other college students at a coffee house.
Everly hops off the counter muttering under her breath. "That guy's got a future ahead of him. In middle management, where he'll motivate no one and annoy everyone."
"He's not that bad, Everly." She gives me a look that says she disagrees. "Okay, he is that bad," I agree.
"Truth." She goes back to filling the one-pound bags of coffee and thankfully drops the topic of waxing. I'm not sure I intend to keep that appointment. The one I have later this morning is enough to think about.
Chapter 2
The rest of my shift passes in a blur of lattes, iced mochas and a steady stream of both commuting students headed to campus and professionals headed to nearby businesses. After clocking out I make my way to the nearest bus stop on foot. I have less than an hour to make my appointment at the student clinic and I don't want to miss it. Condoms are easy enough to get, but getting a prescription for birth control requires an appointment and an exam, and if I miss this appointment there's no telling how long it will be until the next opening.
The university has a shuttle system that loops around the campus, but Grind Me is several blocks outside the transit loop, hence why our undergraduate student customers are few. It's cool outside with fall well under way and I wrap my jacket tighter around me as I hustle to the bus stop, grateful that a bus is pulling up just as I arrive. The buses run every fifteen to twenty minutes so I'm glad to have caught this one.
The shuttle bus is fairly empty, it being late morning. Students are already in class or still sleeping. The clinic is only a few stops away on Market Street, between my Grind Me stop and my dorm. I've only used the clinic once before, freshman year, when a case of strep throat made its way through half my dorm.
It's quiet when I arrive, the receptionist looking bored while a couple of students wait for appointments, passing the time on their smartphones. She hands me a clipboard filled with forms and instructs me to complete them and sign every page before bringing them back to her.
I take a seat and hurry my way through the questionnaire. Name, student ID, phone, allergies, medications, family medical history, date of last period. Still less invasive than an average shift at Grind Me with Everly. The thought makes me smirk. I finish and slide the pen under the clip before returning the entire thing to the receptionist and sitting back down to wait.
I'm relieved when a nurse calls my name moments later. Hopefully this will go quickly and I'll be out of here in the next half hour with a prescription in hand.
The nurse is a friendly-looking woman with a big smile wearing zebra-print scrubs who tells me to call her Marie. She starts chatting the minute I'm through the door, leading me to an exam room where she gets my weight and blood pressure before explaining that I will need to remove all my clothing including underwear. I'm not sure who attempts a gynecologist appointment with their underwear on, but I don't say anything.
"What brings you in to see the doctor today, Sophie?" Marie peers at me over her clipboard, smiling kindly. I bet her grandkids love her. She's got three. They spent the weekend at her house and wore her out. She's told me all about it while taking my vitals, gesturing and laughing at their antics.
"Birth control. I'd like to get on the pill." I try to sound confident, despite my embarrassment at speaking about my potential sex life with her. She reminds me of my grandmother, the woman who raised me. My mom had me her freshman year of college and died before I was two.
"Good, you're a smart girl. It's always wise to take charge of your birth control." The nurse nods approvingly. "Have you been to a gynecologist before?"
"No."
"Well, then you're in luck. We have Dr. Miller on Tuesday mornings. He's the chief of obstetrics at the hospital, but he volunteers here a few hours a week. Otherwise you'd be stuck with one of our general practitioners and they're not known for being gentle. I'll give you a minute to undress and then I'll be back with the doctor."
