Chapter 2: A Coffee Shop Confession
The air outside the library was a cool slap after the tomb-like hush of the third floor. Ryli fell into step beside Cadence, her hands shoved deep in her pockets to keep from fidgeting. The short walk to The Grind was punctuated only by the sound of their footsteps and the distant roar of a lawnmower on the quad.
“So, unapproachable,” Cadence said, breaking the silence. She glanced up at Ryli, a small smile playing on her lips. “Is that a self-diagnosis or a peer-reviewed thing?”
“Both,” Ryli said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Extensive research. Conclusive findings.”
“And the control group?”
“Annoying.”
Cadence laughed, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to light up the shaded path. “Not very scientific.”
“I’m not a very scientific person.”
“You drive a physics equation with a Hemi engine. That’s pretty scientific.”
Ryli looked at her, genuinely startled. “You know what a Hemi is?”
“I have a dad. And a YouTube algorithm that suggests car videos after I watch baking shows. It’s a whole thing.” She pushed open the door to The Grind, releasing a wave of warm, fragrant air. The flickering neon ‘OPEN’ sign cast a pinkish glow on her cheek.
Inside, the shop was as described: dim, sticky, humming with a low energy. They found a booth in the back, the vinyl seat cracked and cool. Ryli slid in opposite Cadence, their knees almost touching under the small, circular table.
A waitress with tired eyes took their order—a black coffee for Ryli, a complicated chai something for Cadence.
When she left, a new silence settled, thicker than before. Cadence traced a pattern on the graffitied tabletop with her finger. “Kayla texted me. She’s freaking out that you’re not answering her.”
“Kayla needs a hobby.”
“You’re her hobby.” Cadence looked up. “She worries about you. Says you’re alone a lot.”
“I’m not alone. I’m with people constantly.” The words came out defensive. She never felt the need to defend her life.
“That’s not the same thing.” Cadence’s voice was quiet, matter-of-fact. She wasn’t accusing. Just observing. “Being around people and letting them in are different sports. I’m… not great at either, honestly.”
Their drinks arrived, providing a temporary distraction. Ryli wrapped her hands around the hot mug, letting the heat burn her palms. “So what’s your deal, Stover? Quiet baker. Chemistry martyr. Never brings anyone to dinner either, I’m guessing.”
Cadence blew on her chai, the steam curling around her face. “No. Not really.” She took a careful sip. “I don’t know. I’ve just never felt that… pull. The one everyone talks about in movies. Friends set me up sometimes. Nice people. But it just feels like having coffee with a nice person. Nothing…” She gestured vaguely with her hand, searching for the word. “…sparks.”
The word landed in the center of Ryli’s chest like a live wire.
“Sparks,” Ryli repeated, her voice low.
“Yeah. It sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t.”
Cadence held her gaze for a long moment, then looked down at her mug. “What about you? You must get asked out all the time.”
“All the time.”
“And?”
“And it’s just noise.” Ryli leaned forward, her elbows on the table, crowding the small space. She could see every individual freckle across the bridge of Cadence’s nose. “It’s just people seeing the jacket, or the car, or the fact that I’m not pretending to be something I’m not. It’s not about me. It’s about an idea.”
“What’s the idea?”
“Someone unbreakable.” Ryli said it flatly. “Someone who doesn’t need anything.”
Cadence was very still. “Do you? Need anything?”
The question was so simple it disarmed her completely. No one asked Ryli what she needed. They told her what they needed from her—rides, attention, an introduction, a reputation by association. Her throat felt tight. She couldn’t answer.
Under the table, her knee bumped Cadence’s. She meant to pull back, but she didn’t. Cadence didn’t move away either. The point of contact was a line of heat through denim.
Then, Cadence’s hand, resting beside her mug, shifted. Her pinky finger brushed against Ryli’s knuckle.
It was an accident. It had to be.
But the jolt that went through Ryli was seismic. It wasn’t just a touch; it was a circuit closing, a direct current to the frantic, hungry center of her. Her breath caught. She saw Cadence’s eyes widen slightly, felt the delicate roughness of her skin.
Cadence didn’t pull away.
Ryli turned her hand over, palm up on the sticky table. An invitation. A surrender.
For three heartbeats, nothing happened. The world narrowed to the scratched tabletop, the hum of the fridge, the faint scent of cinnamon from Cadence’s drink. Then, slowly, Cadence’s hand slid forward. Her fingertips touched Ryli’s palm, a whisper of a touch, then settled, her hand covering Ryli’s completely.
Her hand was soft, and warm, and slightly trembled.
The sensation was overwhelming. It was too much and not enough. It was a handhold, a basic human gesture, and it felt more intimate than anything Ryli had ever experienced. Her vision blurred at the edges. All her concentration was focused on that single point of connection, the weight of Cadence’s trust resting in her hand.
“See?” Cadence whispered, her voice unsteady. “No sparks.”
Ryli let out a sharp, choked sound that was almost a laugh. “You’re a liar.”
A slow, beautiful blush spread across Cadence’s cheeks. “Maybe.”
Ryli’s thumb moved of its own volition, stroking the soft skin between Cadence’s thumb and forefinger. She felt Cadence shiver. The world outside their booth ceased to exist. There was no coffee shop, no college, no past, no future. There was only this fragile, terrifying connection.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Ryli heard herself say, the admission ripped from some hidden, vulnerable place.
“Me either.”
“I think about your stupid cookies all the time.”
Cadence’s lips parted. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Ryli’s voice dropped to a rough scrape. She leaned in closer, their faces now only inches apart. She could see the faint gold flecks in Cadence’s blue irises, the quick flutter of her pulse in her throat. The pull was gravitational, a force that made her muscles ache with the effort of staying still. “I think about you in the library. I think about your voice. It’s… distracting.”
Cadence’s gaze dropped to Ryli’s mouth, then back to her eyes. Her breathing had shallowed. “Good distracting or bad distracting?”
“The worst.” Ryli’s free hand came up, hesitated, then brushed a loose strand of hair from Cadence’s temple. Her skin was so warm. “The kind that keeps me up at night.”
The blush on Cadence’s face deepened. She didn’t flinch from the touch. Instead, she leaned into it, just slightly, her eyes closing for a brief second. When she opened them, they were clear and sure. “Oh.”
The single syllable was a universe.
Ryli’s control, a wire pulled taut for nineteen years, snapped.
“Do you want to get out of here?” The question was out, low and urgent, before she could filter it. It wasn’t her usual smooth, confident line. It was raw, stripped bare, almost desperate.
Cadence didn’t answer with words. She simply nodded, once, her fingers tightening around Ryli’s hand.
Ryli threw a crumpled bill on the table, not bothering to count it. She stood, pulling Cadence up with her, their hands still locked. They weaved through the maze of tables, past the tired waitress, and out into the sharp, clear afternoon.
The sunlight was blinding. On the sidewalk, they stopped, facing each other. The momentum faltered for a second, reality rushing back in. The sounds of traffic, of other students laughing. What were they doing? Where were they going?
Cadence looked up at her, her expression open, trusting, and utterly terrified. It mirrored exactly what Ryli felt churning in her own gut.
Ryli’s Charger was parked a block away. It felt like a continent. She couldn’t move. Every instinct screamed to kiss her now, right here, against the brick wall of the laundromat, to finally know the taste of her.
But the vulnerability in Cadence’s eyes held her back. This wasn’t a girl who did things against brick walls. This was a girl who baked cookies as peace offerings and talked about sparks.
“My place,” Ryli said, her voice rough. “It’s quiet. We can just… talk.”
It was the most un-Ryli thing she had ever said.
Cadence searched her face, then nodded again. “Okay.”
They walked to the car in a charged silence, their clasped hands swinging slightly between them. Ryli hit the fob, the lights flashing, the locks thunking open with a sound that felt portentous. She opened the passenger door for Cadence, a gesture so alien it made her own skin prickle.
When she slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar enclosure of the car felt different. It smelled like her—leather, clean sweat, coconut air freshener—but now it also smelled like Cadence’s linen-and-rain scent. It was already a fusion.
She started the engine. The deep growl vibrated through them both.
Cadence was looking straight ahead, her profile sharp against the window. “You know,” she said softly, “I’ve never just left with someone like this.”
Ryli put the car in gear, her hand resting on the shifter. “There’s a first time for everything.”
She pulled into the street, the tires gripping the asphalt. The path ahead was clear, but Ryli had never felt so lost, so blindly exhilarated, in her life. She had no map for this. All she had was the girl beside her, the lingering warmth of her hand, and the terrifying, thrilling sense of a door swinging open into a room she never knew existed.
The drive to her apartment was a blur of stoplights and the too-loud pulse of the Charger’s engine. Ryli’s grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled. Cadence sat perfectly still in the passenger seat, her hands folded in her lap, staring out at the passing storefronts and trees. The silence wasn’t empty; it was dense, packed with everything they hadn’t said.
“It’s not far,” Ryli said, just to break the pressure.
“Okay.”
“Top floor. The elevator’s slow.”
“That’s fine.”
They lapsed back into quiet. Ryli could feel the ghost of Cadence’s hand in hers, a phantom warmth that made her own palm itch. She took a turn too fast, the tires protesting, and Cadence’s hand flew out to brace against the dashboard. “Sorry,” Ryli muttered.
“It’s alright.” Cadence’s voice was quiet. “I like how you drive. It’s decisive.”
Ryli shot her a glance. “Most people say it’s aggressive.”
“Most people probably talk too much.”
A surprised laugh burst from Ryli. It loosened something in her chest. She pulled into the underground garage of her building, the echo of the engine bouncing off concrete pillars. When she killed the ignition, the sudden silence was absolute.
They sat there for a moment, engulfed by the dim, cool quiet.
“So,” Cadence said.
“So.”
Ryli got out, the door thudding shut with finality. Cadence followed, her shoes making a soft scuffing sound on the stained concrete. The elevator was, as promised, slow. They stood side-by-side watching the numbers light up, their shoulders not touching. Ryli could hear Cadence breathing.
Her apartment was at the end of a hushed hallway. The key scratched in the lock. She pushed the door open onto a space that was clean, modern, and utterly sterile. Leather sofa, sleek television, a single abstract painting on the wall. It looked like a showroom. It didn’t look lived in.
“Wow,” Cadence said, stepping inside. “It’s very… you.”
“What’s that mean?”
“No clutter. No surprises.” Cadence turned to face her, a small smile on her lips. “Except me, I guess. I’m a surprise.”
“Yeah.” Ryli closed the door. The click of the lock engaging was loud. “You are.”
The air in the apartment was cool and still. They were standing too close in the entryway. Cadence was looking at her, really looking, and Ryli felt completely seen, completely dismantled. All the lines, all the practiced cool, evaporated.
“Ryli?” Cadence’s voice was a whisper.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know the rules for this.”
“There aren’t any.” The words were gravel. Ryli lifted a hand, her fingers hovering near Cadence’s jaw. She didn’t touch, not yet. “Just tell me to stop.”
Cadence shook her head, just once. A barely-there movement. “Don’t stop.”
That was all it took.
Ryli closed the distance, her hand finally cupping Cadence’s jaw, her thumb stroking the constellation of freckles there. She kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was a collision, a claiming, a release of all the coiled tension from the pathway, the library, the coffee shop. Cadence gasped against her mouth, a soft, shocked sound, and then her hands were in Ryli’s hair, pulling her closer, kissing her back with a hungry clumsiness that made Ryli’s head spin.
It was messy, and perfect, and real. Cadence’s lips were softer than anything. She tasted like chai and sugar and something uniquely, devastatingly hers. Ryli walked her back until Cadence’s shoulders met the cool wall beside the door. She pressed into her, feeling the delicate frame yield, feeling the frantic beat of Cadence’s heart against her own.
“Okay?” Ryli breathed against her mouth, her own voice unrecognizable.
“More than okay.” Cadence’s words were fragmented by kisses. “Just… Ryli…”
They stumbled toward the bedroom, a clumsy, connected tangle of limbs and rushed, damp kisses. The sterile room with its grey sheets and minimal furniture felt like a different world. Ryli laid Cadence down on the bed, following her down, caging her in. She looked down at her, at the blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, the blown-wide blue eyes, the kiss-swollen lips.
“You’re sure,” Ryli said. It wasn’t a question. It was a plea for confirmation.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Cadence reached up, tracing Ryli’s sharp jawline. “I want the sparks. I want all of it.”
That was the end of talking.
Clothes became obstacles, fabric harsh and confusing against skin that wanted only contact. Ryli’s hands, usually so sure, fumbled with the button on Cadence’s jeans. Cadence arched up to help, her own fingers pulling at Ryli’s tank top. When they were finally bare, skin to skin, Ryli had to stop for a second, just to look. Cadence was pale and flushed in patches, her body a landscape of soft curves and sharp inhales. She was beautiful in a way that hurt to see.
Ryli kissed her again, deeply, one hand sliding down the flat plane of her stomach. Cadence whimpered into her mouth, her hips shifting restlessly. Her skin was fever-hot. Ryli’s own need was a brutal, pounding thing, an ache that demanded resolution. She was already fully, painfully hard, her length thick and insistent against Cadence’s thigh.
Cadence broke the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps. “I haven’t… I mean, I don’t really know…”
“It’s okay,” Ryli murmured, her lips trailing down Cadence’s neck. “I do. Just tell me what you want.”
“You.” The word was a shudder. “I want you. However… however you are.”
That permission, given with such tremulous trust, unraveled the last of Ryli’s restraint. She reached for the nightstand, her movements hurried. She prepared Cadence with a focused, tender urgency that felt at odds with the storm inside her, watching her face for any sign of discomfort, whispering rough encouragement against her skin until Cadence was shaking and pleading, her fingers digging into Ryli’s shoulders.
When Ryli finally, slowly, pushed inside her, they both cried out.
Cadence was tight and impossibly warm, a silken heat that made Ryli’s vision blank for a second. She was so deep, surrounded completely. Cadence’s head tipped back, a sharp, high sound escaping her throat. Her eyes were squeezed shut.
“Look at me,” Ryli ground out, her voice strained. “Cade, look at me.”
Cadence’s blue eyes fluttered open, glazed with pleasure and shock. She was whiny and loud, every tiny movement pulling gasps and fragmented syllables from her. “Oh, god… Ryli… it’s so… you’re so…”
Ryli began to move, a slow, deep roll of her hips. The feeling was catastrophic. She was big, and she filled Cadence completely, each thrust hitting a depth that made Cadence’s back arch off the bed. Ryli fucked her with a driven, relentless rhythm, the rough grip of her hands on Cadence’s hips surely leaving bruises. The bed rocked against the wall with a steady, punishing thump.
Cadence was unraveling beneath her, a symphony of broken sounds. Her whines escalated into loud, sobbing moans with every deep stroke. She chanted Ryli’s name, half-plea, half-prayer. Ryli watched her, consumed by the sight—the fluttering pulse in her throat, the sheen of sweat on her collarbones, the desperate clutch of her body.
“You feel like that,” Ryli gasped, driving into her harder, “you sound like that, and you never knew?” Her own climax was coiling, a wire pulled taut in her gut. “Nobody ever made you feel this?”
“No, never, only you, only—” Cadence’s sentence dissolved into a sharp cry as Ryli shifted angle, hitting a spot that made her legs tremble violently.
Ryli’s release hit her like a physical blow, a wave of blinding, searing pleasure that tore through her control. She drove deep, holding herself there as she pulsed inside Cadence, her own shout muffled against Cadence’s shoulder. Cadence clenched around her, a final, taut vibration, and then went utterly boneless, a spent, trembling sigh whispering past Ryli’s ear.
The aftermath was a stunned, heavy quiet, broken only by their ragged breathing. Ryli, spent and shaking, carefully withdrew and collapsed beside her. The room smelled of sex and sweat and them. Cadence turned her head on the pillow, her eyes hazy and soft. She reached out, her fingers tracing the tense line of Ryli’s arm.
“So,” Cadence whispered, a slow, dazed smile forming. “Sparks.”
Ryli stared at the ceiling, her heart still hammering a chaotic rhythm against her ribs. The room she’d never known existed wasn’t just open now. She was lying in the wreckage of its doorway, completely changed, with no idea how to move forward. All she could do was reach back, her hand finding Cadence’s in the tangled sheets, and hold on.
The silence stretched, thick with the weight of what they’d just done. Ryli’s heart thudded against her ribs, a frantic drum trying to find a new rhythm. Cadence’s fingers laced through hers, a damp, solid warmth in the cool air of the room.
“I don’t know what to say,” Cadence whispered finally. Her voice was raspy, used.
“Then don’t say anything.” Ryli’s own throat felt scraped raw.
But Cadence turned onto her side, the sheets whispering. Her eyes, in the dim light filtering through the blinds, were impossibly blue. “That was my first time. Actually. For real.”
The air left Ryli’s lungs. She’d known, intuitively, from the tight heat and the stunned wonder on Cadence’s face. But hearing it confirmed was different. It was a responsibility she hadn’t asked for and didn’t know how to hold. “Okay.”
“Just ‘okay’?”
“What do you want me to say, Cade?” Ryli propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at her. A curl of blonde hair stuck to Cadence’s damp temple. Ryli carefully brushed it away. “That I’m sorry? I’m not.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry.” Cadence’s hand released hers and came to rest on Ryli’s sternum, over the pounding heart. “I just… needed you to know. It matters.”
“It matters,” Ryli echoed, the words feeling inadequate. She captured Cadence’s hand, pressing her lips to the palm. The skin tasted like salt and her. “You matter.”
A slow, beautiful smile spread across Cadence’s face, erasing the last traces of uncertainty. She shifted closer, her bare leg hooking over Ryli’s. The simple contact was a brand. “Your turn. Tell me something true.”
Ryli blinked. “What?”
“Something true. That you don’t tell people.” Cadence’s thumb stroked the hard line of Ryli’s collarbone. “A trade. I gave you a truth.”
Panic, cold and sharp, flashed in Ryli’s gut. Her mind was a vault of untouched truths. She opened her mouth, closed it. The ghost of cookie-scent and library dust seemed to float in the room. “I bought a cookie at the campus cafe yesterday. After I left you at The Grind. A chocolate chip.”
Cadence’s eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
“It was shit. Tasted like cardboard and regret.” Ryli looked away, at the grey wall. “It just made me think about yours. I threw most of it away.”
The confession felt stupidly intimate. Cadence’s smile softened. She leaned up and kissed the corner of Ryli’s tense jaw. “That’s a good truth.”
The knot in Ryli’s chest loosened, just a little. She relaxed back into the pillow, pulling Cadence with her so their bodies aligned, skin to skin from chest to thigh. Cadence settled her head in the hollow of Ryli’s shoulder with a sigh that seemed to come from her bones. Her breathing began to even out.
Ryli stared at the ceiling, her mind churning. The physical craving had been met, satiated in a brutal, glorious wave. But a deeper, more unsettling hunger remained. It was in the way Cadence’s eyelashes fluttered against her skin. In the absolute trust of her weight. This was the uncharted territory, the room she’d stumbled into, and it was infinitely more dangerous.
Cadence’s hand, which had been resting on Ryli’s stomach, began to wander. Her touch was idle, curious. Her fingers trailed through the fine hair below Ryli’s navel, mapping the defined ridges of her abs. The casual intimacy of it was a shock. No one touched Ryli like this, not after. It was always over. This felt like a continuation.
Then Cadence’s hand drifted lower.
Her fingers closed, not around Ryli’s own sex, but around the thick, semi-soft length of her cock. Ryli’s entire body went rigid. Cadence played with her cock, a slow, experimental stroking that made Ryli’s breath hitch. It was a bold, tender exploration, her touch utterly lacking in skill or agenda, just a fascination with the foreign feel of her, the weight and texture in her hand.