Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Fuck yes, this was exciting. I’d read so much about the Falklands War, and whenever Professor Aavik asked a question that I knew the answer to, I really wanted to raise my hand. And I hated speaking in front of others.
“We’ll start off easy with the CIA.” Professor Aavik smirked, and I grinned to myself. Nothing was easy about the CIA. He was too funny. And sexy. Seriously so sexy. The ultimate professor type, with salt-and-pepper hair, a stocky but firm body, nice clothes, and he was very tall.
Then again, everyone was tall next to my measly 5’4”.
I had not been blessed in the genetic lottery.
I bit my lip, and I screwed my eyes shut for a second. I used to think I was cute. Being chubby and short hadn’t really bothered me until I’d met Caleb. Now I was putting his words in my thoughts, and I fucking hated it.
Bad enough he’d stalked me for three years and violated his restraining order repeatedly. If I kept parroting his abuse, I’d never get rid of him.
After class, I made sure to sneak out with most of the others. No lingering like some students did.
Once or twice, I’d caught Professor Aavik glancing my way, so it was important I kept my face down. I’d rather lie low here than out in Mclean.
I walked briskly back up to Georgetown, resisting the urge to call an Uber and hating that there was no Metro here. When it rained and was cold, DC was simply not my buddy. Not in this area, anyway.
Next week, I might take the car, even though it was reserved for work. I only used it privately when I had to go out to Mclean.
By the time I trudged up the little cobblestone hill I called home, I was freezing and contemplating asking Kaley to fill in for me at work. She always wanted extra shifts. But then Dad would see the schedule change in the computer system, and he’d worry I wasn’t doing all right. So…instead of heading upstairs to my place, I went into Waffled and welcomed the warmth and the scents of vanilla, waffle batter, and bacon. Those three dominated. Especially right now when the lunch crowd was on its way.
I greeted Des and Makayla behind the counter and left my messenger bag in the back. Then I changed into a Waffled tee and logged in to my work account on the computer. All Waffled places around the country—okay, it was primarily a West Coast franchise—were on the same network, and I noticed Dad was online. Just in time for him to open in Berkeley.
A message from him popped up in its own window.
Good morning, son! How was class today?
I grinned faintly and replied.
All good. We talked about Reagan/Thatcher (Falklands.) Now I’m gonna do boring inventory. :P
Waffled was set up much like Subway, in the way that customers picked their toppings from behind a counter. You could choose between sweet and savory, and each one offered approximately fifteen toppings, plus a monthly special. For February, we were doing wild berries with whipped cream and heart-shaped white-chocolate chips on the sweet waffle, and buffalo chicken and pickles on the savory. But bacon and eggs were always the popular choice for a lunch waffle.
I could see Dad typing his response when Makayla hollered for me, so I left the back room to see what she wanted.
Unlike Subway, our interior screamed the South. Mismatched furniture, rustic colors, and Southern sayings and quotes on the walls. The franchise was my dad’s baby—and a tribute to his upbringing in Tennessee.
The only thing I would’ve changed was maybe renting bigger property, because it was always packed, and only six parties could sit down in tiny booths along the wall. But Dad wanted to keep each location small and intimate, which, of course, had its charm—if you got a table.
“What’s up?” I asked Makayla.
She gestured at someone near the door. “The man over there asked for you.”
Oh? I didn’t recognize him. But hot damn, he was incredibly attractive. A bad-boy-looking man, with a leather jacket, jeans, and boots. Plus scruff. I liked scruff, even more so when it glinted silver. His hair was very short, and I was guessing it used to be nearly black.
“He can ask me anything,” I mumbled.
Makayla laughed. “Right?”
I flushed. Damn, she’d heard me.
Then I cleared my throat, and the man met my gaze. Crap, crap. I nodded for him to join me at the end of the bar where we served orders, and he maneuvered his way through the crowd.
He stood out, to say the least, and not only because he was taller than most of the others in here.
He looked like he could run the vintage music shop across the street. Since we’d opened last summer, I’d wondered how that place could survive Georgetown rents by selling old records and memorabilia.