Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Fine.
I take a menu and give it a glance. “I’ll do fries.”
She narrows her eyes. “Fine. Anything else?”
Drake turns around, arm up on the back of the booth. “I’ll do a burger and fries to go, and he’ll do a chicken sammich, also to go.”
The look she gives my brother could kill a man, or at least stop him in his tracks.
“Fine.” A writing pad materializes from the pocket of the cute little apron tied around her waist and she scribbles, walking in the direction of the kitchen. Slaps the piece of paper on the shelf for the chef, who’s staring through the small window separating the dining room and kitchen.
The dude gives me a wave with the spatula in his hand, and I hear Ryann scold him.
“Stop it,” she hisses. “We do not like him anymore.”
“We don’t?” asks the cook. He’s definitely our age and probably also a student.
“No.”
“Oh.” His face falls, and he gives me a wan smile before taking the sheet of paper and beginning our order.
Luck is on my side, though, because there are only two other people in the restaurant, an older couple who look to be my grandparents’ age, and they’re completely oblivious to the drama that’s about to unfold.
Ryann is back at my table, arms crossed.
Damn, she looks adorable in that apron, hair pulled back into a low ponytail, all professional and waitress-like.
“As soon as your order is up, you need to leave.”
Curt.
Serious.
“All right.” I nod. “But that means I get at least ten minutes to give you my side of the story, okay?” I pause. “Please, Ryann.”
“Please, Ryann,” I hear behind me.
I turn around to face my brothers. “Drake, what did I say about talking?”
“You said not to talk.”
“Then why are you talking?”
“I’m trying to help.”
I give him a stare. “You can wait in the truck.”
Drew smacks him on the arm. “Dude, he’s being serious. Knock it off.”
I glare some more before turning back toward Ryann.
“Now you’re down to eight minutes,” she announces, and I could clobber my brother for wasting my precious groveling time.
Every second is valuable.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say It wasn’t what it looked like, but I know better than that, having rehearsed in my head what I want to tell her.
“Ryann,” I start. “People will do a lot of things for their fifteen minutes of fame, and that’s what was happening in that photo.”
She shifts on the balls of her feet, glancing over her shoulder at some dude I assume might be the manager, then looking at the guy cooking my fries.
“After I left practice, I went straight home. Both of the twins were home, too, but when I walked up to the house, Tiffany was sitting on the swing. Waiting for me, I guess.”
“Uh-huh.” Her arms are still crossed. “Could we maybe not use her name for the duration of this story?”
Fair enough. “So she’s there waiting for me, which I had no clue about. I thought her friends might be inside and she was out there, I don’t know, smoking or something. Honestly, she looked like a moron, not wearing a coat or anything warm.”
“Oh, I’m so sure you were thinking about how she needed a warm coat.” Ryann rolls her eyes, not that I blame her for thinking it sounds fucking stupid—because it does.
I forge on, the clock ticking away. “She gets up and walks over as I’m questioning what she wants, and I swear on the Bible, she…” I cannot tell Ryann the neighbor girl offered to suck my dick. It would put her over the edge, especially considering Ryann doesn’t even want me to say Tiffany’s name. I can’t use ‘blow job’ in a sentence, either.
The kiss of death.
“She…what?”
“She propositioned me. Then I told her she was out of her fucking mind, ’cause I have a girlfriend.”
“And what did she say to that?”
“She leaned in and did that thing you see in the picture. But what you don’t see is me pushing her away and storming into the house. I called for the twins. They were in the kitchen making dinner. They saw how pissed I was.”
“We could barely console him,” Drake adds enthusiastically, ever the fountain of information. “For real, he was pissed.”
“I’m sorry, but the media has been camped outside your house for at least a week. How did you not know someone was there taking photos? Give me a break. You did this on purpose.”
I knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but I was hoping she’d at least see my logic and hear me out. Turns out she’s latching onto her own theories, ones fueled by an overactive imagination and the span of days she refused to talk to me.
“I promise you I had no idea anyone was watching us. Ryann, that was her plan, don’t you see?” I one hundred percent sound like I’m groveling now, the way the tone of my voice pitches. “I have no idea who she called, but that whole thing was a setup.”