Read Speak (Witches & Warlocks Book 1) for Free Online Page B

air through my mouth — puffing out my cheeks — as I lock the front door behind me. There’s a flash of Noah, his lips on mine, his scent on my skin, but I lock those thoughts away. I don’t want to think about him right now.
    I guess the one thing I can work on to make myself more visible is to try to actually have a conversation with someone. You know, push myself out of my comfort zone and all that jazz. So, here’s what I’m going to do. It’s a gorgeous day and I’m going to take full advantage of it by walking down to the coffee shop. I don’t usually drink coffee. Someone as constantly uncomfortable as I am really doesn’t need to pump stimulants into her bloodstream. But coffee shops are super popular so I’m going to go down there, maybe get a cup of tea. Hell! Maybe even coffee! It’s a day for pushing boundaries after all…
    Anyway, I’ll get a cup of something to drink and just see what I see. Do some people watching, try to make eye contact and smile, maybe say hello … you know, just the basic human interaction stuff that is so damn hard for me. The coffee shop is only a few blocks away and as I said, it’s gorgeous. Summer sun filtering down, baking the sidewalk and kissing my shoulders. The perfect little breeze cooling the sweat that forms on my skin. As I walk, I keep my eyes up, my chin level. I try to catch the eyes of the people I pass, but they walk by without noticing. Maybe it’s a little ‘small town sweet’ of me to expect people to smile and nod at strangers as if they were old friends. I think of the way big cities are portrayed in the movies, people moving with purpose, eyes glazed, alone in a sea of people … maybe that’s not just for big cities. Maybe that’s for everyone and I’ve just never noticed.
    The coffee shop smells of baked goods and caramel and is buzzing with people and conversation. My arms start to snake around my middle and I stop them. There’s no need for me to be all wrapped up. There’s no need to be worried. I’m working on being the new brave me. Zoe Tate. The girl who speaks.
    The menu may as well be written in some strange foreign language. I don’t speak ‘coffee’. A few people come in behind me while I’m trying to decipher what to order and just kinda shoulder passed me, like I’m not important, like I’m not worth the same space they are. Like I’m invisible.
    What is it about me?
    When I make it to the counter, I get a curt nod from a girl with lavender hair and a rhinestone glinting in her nose. There’s a tightness in her lips that makes me feel like I’m interrupting her, like I’m a bother. “What can I getcha?” she asks, looking over my shoulder towards the door.
    I actually don’t have a clue, so I order the first thing my eyes hit on when I look back up at the menu. The girl nods her head and swipes my card. She reminds me of a little pixie, with her exotic hair, multiple piercings, and dark eyes lined in even darker liner. The tiger nudges me. Speak. Do what you came here to do. “I like your hair,” I say, fighting a ferocious wave of nerves, flushing crimson from my chest to my hairline.
    The girl furrows her brow and meets my eyes, somehow managing to look like my compliment was a criticism. “Uhh,” she runs her hand up into her hair, scrunches it, then smooths it back into place. “Thanks.” Did I irritate her? She sounds upset, not flattered.
    So far, so good on the whole not weird and invisible thing. Totally nailing it. I inwardly roll my eyes and grab my drink when it’s done and have a seat at an isolated table. In between sips of a very bitter iced coffee I study the people around me. No one looks my way. I’d catch their eyes and smile if they did. But they don’t.
    The drink is making me nauseous and I’ve been fighting my ‘super senses on fire’ thing since I sat down. Music just a little too loud, a man crooning over a strumming guitar. The hiss and steam of the espresso machine. A guy with