Just Desserts Author: Suzanne Moore E-mail: suzanne.moore8@verizon.net Summary: A July Nicfic Challenge story, using the words bohemian, duchess, and leech. Author's Notes: I tip my cowgirl hat to Deb and Linda Wilson for their beta-reads. More notes appear at the end. ~*~ Nick took his father home and quickly left, relieved to finally be alone. After everything that had happened this evening, it felt good to be behind the wheel of the BMW. *No one will be able to identify this car, thank God.* As he drove away, he felt as if a million leeches had sucked the adrenaline from his body and left him totally spent. Now exhausted, his thoughts skittered from one thing to another: the beating of the stranger in the parking garage, his dad's pre-occupation with Shannon, Lulu's strange response to his declaration of love. . . Nick took the long way home, driving through a bohemian neighborhood that was slowly recuperating from urban blight. Not yet a trendy night-time destination, most of the galleries and cutting-edge boutiques had already closed for the evening. The only storefront open was a café called Just Desserts. A neon "Fresh Coffee" sign in the window spilled strange red shadows onto the dark street, beckoning Nick inside. *Coffee!* He parked his car along the curb, locked it, and walked inside. Although he stuck out like a sore thumb in his tux, he was unaware of the furtive glances from the café's other very casually dressed customers. Nick had too many things on his mind to notice. Things like jealousy. Anger. Guilt. Fear. . . The handsome young man made his way to a small round table and sank into an aqua vinyl-covered chair. A few original paintings dotted the walls and sculptures fashioned from recycled materials were scattered around the room. The upscale café was a bit too off-beat for Nick's cultured taste, but the delicious aroma of fresh coffee permeated the air, and the eye-popping desserts in the display case looked mighty good. "We only serve coffee and dessert," the black-clad, multiply pierced waitress announced. "Would you like a menu?" Her brows arched high over her chocolate-colored eyes. "We're already out of Mississippi Mud ice cream and lemon meringue pie, but Amos is frosting a New Duchess Spice Cake right now." She tilted her head toward the pastry chef working in the open kitchen, an artist concentrating on an edible masterpiece. "He should be done in a few minutes if you`d like to wait." Nick shook his head. "A large coffee. To go." He wasn't planning on sticking around. He preferred the dark anonymity of his car. The waitress's brow furrowed slightly. She shook her head as she headed for the coffee pot, sadly realizing that there would only be a small tip from Mr.Tuxedo. Tired beyond belief, Nick waited for his order. He pressed his lips into a grim line and thought about the events in the parking garage. *What if someone witnessed what Dad and I did? What if that guy is really hurt? What if someone wrote down Dad`s license plate number? What if . . .* "Hey, man," a very familiar voice interrupted. "What are you doing here?" Nick's heart lurched. *Colin!* The drug dealer rolled his wheelchair toward the table. "You're looking kinda rough, dude." His eyes flicked to Nick's bleeding knuckles. "Tough night?" Nick did not respond. He stared at Colin with wide, blue-green eyes. "I'm doing good, by the way. I'm all set, thanks to your Dad." Colin acted like the same old Colin Nick had always known. Was he still dealing drugs, or had he really turned over a new leaf because he'd "seen the light"? Nick's unspoken question was quickly answered. "Need something to chill out? I've got some great stuff," he hissed in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. Colin's hand snaked to his shirt pocket. Nick knew full well that those long fingers were fondling a familiar plastic packet. The young man licked his lips and seriously considered the drug dealer's tantalizing offer. *I deserve to feel good after the week I`ve had.* He yearned for the sweet surge of energy, the familiar wave of well-being that the white powder offered. Every cell in his body screamed *I really like cocaine*. The waitress interrupted the one-sided conversation to deliver Nick's order. "You sure you don't want some dessert?" Nick took the foam cup in his hand and winced. His knuckles were swelling now, and the pain of grasping the cup jolted Nick back to his frustrating reality: Getting busted. Community service at LSP. Mandy's death and almost having his probation revoked. And now, bruised and bleeding knuckles from beating a stranger. *Those are my desserts.* He shook his head at the waitress. . . and at Colin. "I --- I can't be here. I can`t talk to you," he told the drug dealer. Nick stood and handed the waitress a five dollar bill. "Keep the change," he said, rewarding her with a slight smile as well. He quickly left the café, coffee in hand, his face a cool and collected mask. No one, not even Colin, knew how badly he was shaking inside. As the drove away, Nick took a sip of fresh coffee and felt the tension in his shoulders relax a bit. *Mmm, this coffee's really good.* He soon felt the jolt of caffeine hit his system and realized he'd never get to sleep tonight. Then again, he wouldn't have slept anyway. ~fin~ Author's Notes: There used to be a real dessert cafe in a bohemian section of Atlanta. It was the only happening place to stay open after-hours way-back-when, and they served only coffee and delicious, eye-popping desserts. (Any Atlantans out there remember The Dessert Place?) And there really *is* such a thing as New Duchess Spice Cake --- just look in ye old 1950s Betty Crocker Cookbook!