The Rule Breaker

It's next level chocolate.

All the delicious, rich, creamy, fruity flavors. With a million times more subtlety.

My tongue slides over my lips.

"You want it," he says.

"It's too expensive."

"I'm going to buy it. Hope someone eats it."

"It's too much."

"What the fuck did you do with my friend, Luna? The one who threatens to throw out my phone if I play music she doesn't like?" His eyes meet mine. "The girl who tells me every time I make coffee wrong."

"I just…"

"You want this."

"Yeah."

"So why are you making it hard for me to give it to you?"

"It's just… it's expensive."

"So?"

"And my parents, and I'm living with you, and you're saving to move out, and… money is fucked up."

He nods yeah.

"Maybe that's why it's all so fucked up. The money."

"As opposed to…"

"I know it's better to have money." I'm not that out of touch. "But the divorces… it's like your dad said. The assets make it ugly."

"Maybe. My dad didn't give a fuck about the money. He wanted custody. He would have paid anything for that."

"You're giving him a lot of credit."

A guy in board shorts tries to cut through us.

Oliver pulls me aside. Motions to the aisle across from us.

I nod. Follow him into it.

Snacks. From the organic version of the classic plain potato chip to the chickpea puff to the chip with actual chicken in it.

Don't these people know they can buy chickpea and lentil chips at the place in Culver City for half the price?

"You eat enough?" He motions to a bag of garlic and rosemary potato chips.

"Yeah." I scan the rows, looking for a distraction. A novelty. Something. There are some unusual flavors here. Dill pickle, Moscow Mule, Korean Barbeque. All on potato chips.

But they have these everywhere. Even at Safeway.

It's the chips made out of chickpeas where things get weird.

But I don't want salty snacks. I don't want any snacks. But if I have to have snacks—

I move to the next aisle. Nuts. Expensive, organic ones. Slightly less expensive roasted versions. Flavored.

Chocolate covered almonds.

No. This chocolate is plenty. I'm not even hungry. And—"Our coffee is probably ready."

"You keep looking at food. You hungry?"

"No. I just… want something to look at."

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

His fingers skim my shoulder. Then his palm rests on it. He turns me so we're face-to-face. "I'm sorry about your parents. I'm sorry they're divorcing. I'm sorry they're lying to you. I know how it sucks."

"Thanks. I'm sorry about yours too."

His expression gets sheepish. "Thanks. Yeah. That was hell. But it's over. And now—"

"You get to have fucked-up relationships with both of them separately."

He just barely chuckles. "Basically."

"Do you see your mom much?"

"Birthdays and holidays."

"When was the last time?"

"I called her on Daisy's birthday. To make sure she called, left a message, made Daisy feel loved."

"Really?"

"Yeah." That same sheepish expression. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?"

"I don't know. But I don't like it. We're talking about your shit."

"I thought we were getting coffee."

He makes that hmmm noise.

"What?"

"It's not like you. To avoid things."

"Thanks, Dr. Phil."

"If I'm going to be a TV host, I'm Oprah."

I raise a brow.

"She's the voice of America."

A laugh escapes my lips. It's true, I guess. "Okay. You can be Oprah. Thanks, Oprah."

"She doesn't really give advice."

"Just sits there and lets other people talk."

"You could learn a lot from her," he says.

"Oh my god." I go to play hit him.

He grabs my wrist.

It's equal parts hard and soft.

And entirely I'm going to pin you to the wall and have my way with you.

I swallow hard.

He stares into my eyes.

For a second, I consider going for it, kissing him, asking him to take me home, touch me, fuck me, do whatever it takes to make me forget.

To make me feel good.

But that's…

I can't.

I really can't.

"You're sweeter than you act." My voice is a struggle. "With Daisy." There. That's it. I need to remind myself why this can't happen. And him.

Daisy.

My best friend.

My favorite person in the world.

His sister.

His favorite person in the world.

"She hasn't totally given up on Mom." He releases me.

"You have?"

"I don't know." He takes a step backward. "I used to think my dad was crazy. Over-reacting. But now… I don't know. She is trying."

"It's hard."

He nods yeah.

Neither of us expands on it. So many things are hard. Dealing with parents, fighting addiction, standing here without jumping into his arms.

His mom—

There's something there, something I want to know. But there's something about his posture too. I shouldn't press it.

He motions to a box of chocolate-covered almonds. "You sure you aren't hungry?"

"Isn't that what the chocolate is for?"

He half-smiles. "True." He motions to the corner. The direction of the coffee bar. "Why don't you get a seat on the patio. I'll get these."

"Oh. Sure. Yeah."

"Should be a few minutes."

"Grab a water too maybe."

He nods yeah. Watches me move around the corner. Toward the door.

It's a perfectly reasonable idea. Divide and conquer.