#artemistletoe

“Piper!” She yells, sprinting down the hall and banging the girl’s door open, not stopping to let her fully rise before saying, “What happened to my coffee?”

“What?” Jason peeks his head above the sheets.

“My coffee. It’s gone. And I have class in forty five minutes.”

“You used it all up,” comes Piper’s muffled reply, head still buried underneath miles and miles of puffy, white comforter.

“I think I would have realized if I drank all my instant coffee.”

“Last night. Eleven thirty pm. Studying for your physics final.”

Fuck. She’d drank it all - four cups to keep her mind on track. How hadn’t she realized that she’d used the entire box?

“Can you close the door on your way out?” Jason asks, snuggling back into the covers.

“You don’t even live here!” Annabeth groans, closing it on her way out nevertheless.

She checks the time on her phone the moment she’s back in the kitchen - 9:50. Class is at 10:30. That gives her forty minutes to find the Starbucks with the shortest line and the least walking distance and sprint her ass off.

She runs her fingers through tangled, blonde hair before twisting it up into a bun, pulling a sweatshirt over her head and collecting her wallet and shoes at the same time, slipping the latter on while rooting around in the former for her keys.

Annabeth’s out the door in two seconds flat, foregoing the elevator for the stairs. However dark and dusty they are, she’s not taking the chance of the forty billion year old building deciding today would be a fun day to turn out the power. She takes the stairs two at a time, feet thumping on the hard concrete and echoing through the dimness. When she reaches the bottom, she all but bangs the door open, only slowing down slightly to power walk through the lobby of the dorm building before pushing the main door open and being greeted by chilly October air.

The wind bites at her cheek, nips at her nose and exposed fingers as she walks as quickly as possibly while simultaneously staring at her phone, willing the apple maps app to not open at the speed of a snail on morphine. There’s a Starbucks a block away, but it’s in front of a gigantic office building and close to a fairly successful start up, and therefore always has a line the length of the Great Wall of China, even at three pm on a Wednesday. If walking a few more blocks means easier access to coffee, Annabeth’s all for it.

A man in a crisp, black suit holding what looks like a million dollar briefcase glares at her as she pushes past, and Annabeth doesn’t bother to say sorry. It’s a Monday morning, and she doesn’t have coffee. Manners have gone out the window.

Annabeth arrives at the alternate Starbucks five minutes later, slightly out of breath. She swings open the door, welcoming the rush of warm air. The store smells like roasting coffee and peppermint, and she almost sighs in relief at the sight of the short line that awaits her. She steps in behind a boisterous looking woman, dressed in designer workout clothes and looking as if she hasn’t run a foot all morning. In contrast, Annabeth looks like the Grinch.

The line moves surprisingly fast, but she’s glad she came when she did, because as the minutes pass, the line steadily grows longer. It seems as if every time Annabeth takes a step forward, two new people have joined.

Finally, Lululemon Lady steps up to the counter, tapping one expensively manicured nail against her lip three times before saying, “Okay, but, like, how big is a venti?”

The cashier reaches behind the counter to show her the cup.

“That’s too big, but a grande’s too small… Like, I need caffeine but not too much. Is there any way you can give me something in the middle? But in a venti cup?”

The cashier looks taken aback before replying, “Uh, yes ma’am. But I’ll have to charge you for a venti.”

“Why?”

“Um, there’s no way of accurately measuring how much coffee we gave you otherwise so-,”

“I don’t want to pay for a venti.”

“I can ask my manager, if you want?”

“Yeah, go get your manager. Honestly, it’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go through this much for a cup of coffee.”

“Almost as ridiculous as the fact that I have to go through this for a cup of coffee,” Annabeth mutters, and there’s a soft chuckle behind her. Lululemon lady, on the other hand, is less than amused. She turns on two sparkling white sneakers, narrowing her eyes.

“Excuse me?”

In any other instance, Annabeth would try to diffuse the situation. But she’s tired. And coffee deprived. And cranky. And Lululemon lady is grating on her nerves. So she simply smiles and says, “You’re taking forever to order your coffee and, I don’t know if you noticed, but there’s a line.”

The lady’s eyes widen, then narrow back to slits, and she opens her mouth, but before she can get out a word there’s a voice from behind Annabeth.

“She’s joking, ma’am.”

Annabeth spins to see a tall young man, hands in sweatpant pockets, giving the lady an apologetic, annoying attractive grin. He shifts his eyes to Annabeth for a second, as if warning her to keep her mouth shut, before retraining them on Lululemon lady.

“I don’t really appreciate being talked to like that, even if it is a joke.”

“I’m sorry,” the man says. “Allow me to pay for your coffee.”

Annabeth just stares in shock as he cuts in front of her, paying for the venti the lady ends up ordering and then turning back to stare at Annabeth.

There’s something familiar about him, something recognizable about the mussed up black hair and the tanned skin. Has she seen him before? Passed him on the street? There’s a memory tugging at the back of her mind, but she isn’t able to reach it.

“I’ll pay for my own, thanks,” she grumbles, ordering a peppermint mocha latte and shoving a five dollar bill onto the counter before gathering up her change and stalking over to wait for her coffee, making sure to avoid Lululemon Lady.

Who does this guy think he is, fighting her battles for her? She doesn’t even know him. At least, she doesn’t think she does

As if to add onto her bad mood, he comes to stand next to her, staring down expectantly (damn, he’s tall. And hot).

“Can I help you?” She asks, making sure to inject every ounce of venom in her body into the words. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t hesitate a second before giving a little smirk.

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember? Do I know you?” There’s a little part of her that thinks she might. She just can’t place the memory.

“Oh wow. I mean, I thought that night was pretty unforgettable.”

Oh god. Oh no. Fucking hell no.

The memory comes crashing back, and Annabeth wants to sink into the floor and die.

His name’s Percy. Percy Jackson. Biology major. Really, really good with his tongue.

She’d had sex with him.

Annabeth’s red face must tell Percy everything he needs to know, because he grins. “I thought it was you, but I didn’t want to say anything till I saw your face.”

“So you decided to deal with a thirty year old lady for me?”

Percy throws his hands up into the air in surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t really feeling a fight in the middle of Starbucks.”

“We weren’t going to fight,” Annabeth protests, but she can’t come up with anything more clever to say. Half of it’s the lack of caffeine in her blood, but the other half is that Percy Jackson is so goddamn distracting. She can’t look at him without replaying the dark bedroom and the sound of music blaring through the walls, the feeling of his fingers on her skin, her hands in his hair.

There’s a reason, she reminds herself, why she shouldn’t go to frat parties.

“I beg to differ.”

What are the odds that she sees the only guy she’s ever had a one night stand with in a Starbucks three months later? Is there someone out to get her? Is her luck really this bad? If Piper were here, Annabeth’s almost positive she’d be laughing her ass off.

“Well, I wasn’t going to fight.”

“Are you kidding? You looked tense up from the back!”

“How do you even know, I’m wearing a sweatshirt!”

He grins a little, and it’s only then that Annabeth realizes this makes it that much easier for him to remember her without one.

She’s having enough trouble trying to keep away from the thought of him shirtless.

“Anyway, you never gave me a call after that night.”

Oh god. They are not doing this.

“I mean, it was a one night thing.” She’s looking everywhere but his eyes. He has really nice eyes.

“Still, little rude, don’t you think?” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, and Annabeth wants to punch that smirk off his face. Or kiss it.

Definitely kiss it. Fucking coffee-deprived hormones.

“I’m sure you have no shortage of girls calling you up,” she retorts, folding her arms across her chest and turning away from him.

One night-stands are supposed to be short - forgetful. It’s not fair that Percy’s showing up out of the blue. Isn’t that, like, against the rules? Should she be this attracted to him?

“True,” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ve never met any of them in a Starbucks.”

“Really? Well, then, this must be true love.”

“Glad we’re on the same page!” Percy gives her a grin, and Annabeth can’t tell if he’s joking.

“Peppermint mocha for Annabeth Chase!”

A distraction. Thank God.

She stalks towards the counter, swiping her drink off and bolting out the door. A little part of her, perhaps bigger than she’d like to admit, wants to talk to him a little more. A lot more. He’s funny, and almost unhumanly hot, and if she didn’t have class in twenty minutes, she might even consider it.

“Hey! Annabeth!” She turns, surprised.

He’s making his way towards her, coffee in hand, head cocked to the side. “I can’t believe you were going to leave without setting a date.”

“What?”

“When am I taking you on a date?”

A pause. “Who says you’re taking me on a date?”

“Well, I just did.”

She really should get to class. She’s going to be late as it is, and is Percy Jackson really worth it?

“Pick me up at 7, Friday. You choose what we’re doing.”