Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 64929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
“Someone’s being all responsible all of a sudden,” he remarked, responding startlingly well to the first stage of being friend zoned.
“Someone is having to figure out how to pay the mortgage at the ripe old age of eighteen.” There was an edge to my voice I hadn’t expected, but I didn’t apologize for it. He winced. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
No one ever did. They assumed that me living my life the way I wanted to meant I was an irresponsible piece of shit.
“No worries,” I said, patting him on the back instead of playing tonsil hockey like I normally would. “Gotta get back in before the boss lady comes looking for me.” Brad nodded, going to the car next to mine and fishing out his keys from his pocket. “Yeah, no problem. See you tomorrow.” I nodded then headed back inside. The line was short, thankfully, but as I headed to the back, I heard Monique using her manager voice. It was that obsequious, too chipper voice she turned on patrons of our charming establishment when they were being really fucking stupid. I paused to listen, not wanting to step onto a landmine by getting too close yet.
“But I don’t understand why I can’t just trade them out,” the man at the counter said hotly. “You’re already charging five bucks for a freaking burger. It’s not gonna kill you to hand over some more cheap-ass fries.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Monique said. She caught sight of me, but her eyes didn’t linger. “We can’t give you more fries instead of a bun. We can exchange the fries for a salad or one of the other—”
Now that I had a vague idea of what was going on, I finally headed back behind the counter. Dangerous, but it had its plus sides. I could eavesdrop even better from there and see the guy’s facial expressions.
“If you can do that,” he interrupted, “then it shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t want a bun. I want fries.”
This had the ring of one of those conversations that had gone on for way too long, and I called up the next person in line. The redheaded customer cast a sidelong glance at the man before saying just a bit too sweetly, “I’ll have a number three, please… and an extra order of fries for the gentleman there.”
I could’ve fucking kissed her.
As it was, I had to strangle back a laugh as he lifted his head sharply and stared at her. “Ma’am, this does not concern you,” he snapped at her.
“You’ve held up the line for five minutes arguing about a 99-cent order of fries. Leave that poor woman alone.” She tsked, pulling cash out of her wallet. “That’ll be six eight-seven,” I told her, hoping I was telegraphing with my eyes just how much the simple defense meant to me — to us. She handed over a ten, and I gave her the change.
“Jesus, thank you,” another man in line muttered.
The guy bothering Monique turned beet red, and he turned on his heel — without the fries the woman had graciously ordered for him. Some people, man.
I glanced at Monique, and she gave me a barely perceptible nod.
I tried to refund the woman her money, but she waved me off. “I’ll happily eat extra fries,” she told me, almost conspiratorially. I couldn’t help but grin. “I’ll bring your food out to you in a few minutes,” I told her. She smiled at me. “Thanks,” she glanced at my name tag, “Owen.”
Miracle, thy name is random customer of the day.
I snatched an extra piece of pie from the back — which came as frozen as the fries, but hey, chocolate was chocolate — and stuck it unobtrusively onto her tray. I brought it out to her, setting it down.
“You don’t have to do that,” she told me, her voice quiet.
“You didn’t have to do what you did, either,” I replied.
She chuckled. “Have a good day, Owen.”
“You too, ma’am.”
I spent the rest of the day thinking about how much a few nice words, a few nice actions, could make such a difference. I felt pang after pang of guilt when I thought about how I’d been treating Adrian. I vowed to make it up to him — at least, when I got up the nerve to talk to him again. If he didn’t hate me…
Well, even if he did, I wasn’t going to let things stay that way.
Chapter 9 Adrian
I was starting to think this wasn’t such a good idea, but after several more days of Owen and I not exactly ignoring each other, I wasn’t sure I had another choice. I needed someone to talk to, and if the only person that the professor could recommend was a shrink, I was going to take that as a sign from the universe or something.