Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“And for you?” I ask Ben, glancing down at my hands.
I’m such a wimp.
I can’t even look him in the eyes as I ask him his order.
“Coffee and water. Please.”
“Anything to eat?”
“Same as him. Breakfast plate, eggs cooked over medium.”
I rock back on my heels and glance up to look somewhere near his shoulder. “Sounds good. I’ll be right back.”
I rush back to grab two mugs and the freshly brewed pot of coffee. Christine and I cross paths, and she dips her head low beside mine.
“Tell me that man is real. Tell me I’m not making him up.”
I laugh and shake my head, knowing full well who she’s referring to. “He’s real.”
She steals a quick glance at him over her shoulder and sighs in bliss. “If they wouldn’t protest, I’d force you to switch tables with me.” I frown in confusion, and she laughs. “Oh come on. They’re eating you up, hun. One of them is about to ask if you’re on the menu.”
It just goes to show where my head’s at this morning, because I didn’t notice that at all. Sure, there was some playful banter a minute ago, but I wasn’t aware any of them had really taken notice of me. Then I return with the coffee pot and find the redhead grinning up at me again.
“Put me out of my misery and let me take you out on a date.”
Half the table erupts in laughter as my cheeks turn bright red.
“That’s the best you can do, Mallory?” someone calls. “Jesus, it’s a wonder you ever get laid.”
Mallory wiggles his eyebrows. “Women love me.”
“Too bad,” Anthony chimes in as I finish pouring his coffee. He’s loud enough to make the whole table go quiet as he continues, “Ben met her first. He has dibs.”
My heart sputters in my chest as a muscle deep in my belly clenches tight. I’m right beside Ben now, about to set down his coffee mug, and I know he’s aware of my presence, but he won’t look up at me. He sits there, filling up so much space it’s a wonder any of the rest of us fit inside the diner at all. I bend and try to curve around his arm, and I catch a hint of his body wash. I inhale out of some deep-seated need to memorize his scent. It’s heavenly. Manly. Nothing like what I’m used to around here.
“I have a fresh idea,” the Asian guy says. “Why don’t we stop objectifying and humiliating a person standing right by us? It’s like you guys have never left your damn houses before.” He looks up at me and shakes his head in apology.
“You’re right, Trey. My bad,” Anthony says, looking at me with his commercial-worthy smile. “But blame Mallory. He’s the real asshole.”
The guys all laugh, and the focus shifts away from me just as I finish pouring coffee into Ben’s mug.
With a quiet voice, I ask if he’d like any cream or sugar.
“This is fine. Thanks.”
His brown eyes flit up to me and we are a kissable distance away from each other, close enough that when he shifts, his shoulder brushes against my chest and a cascade of sensation rushes down my spine. My lips press together in an attempt to keep me from saying something dumb, and then I nod and all but sprint back to the safety of the counter.
He has dibs.
What in the world does that mean?
I look down to see my hand shaking, sloshing coffee around the pot near the rim. Quickly, I replace the pot on its warming pad then get busy behind the counter, refilling salt and pepper shakers, rolling silverware for lunch, and helping Christine make drinks for her tables. I feel safe behind the counter, like there’s a forcefield between the basketball players and me. Even still, I can’t help myself. Every now and then, when I think I can get away with it, I sneak a surreptitious glance at Ben. It’s so interesting to see him among the rest of the team. He’s with them, but not really one of them. His presence looms over the table like he’s a deity who’s only gracing us with his presence for the time being. He listens to the conversation and every now and then the edge of his mouth might hitch or he’ll nod in response to something, but he doesn’t openly participate, not like the rest of them.
It’s subtle though—his ownership of the space. He’s not being loud and authoritative. It’s his quiet confidence that puts me so ill at ease. I have no idea what he’s thinking. No idea if he’s happy to be here or not. No idea if he “has dibs”.
When Cook finishes up with Ben and Anthony’s breakfast plates, I carry them over, aware of every step that takes me closer to their table. Just like with the coffee, I serve Anthony first, delaying the gratification of leaning over Ben again. I love that they’re all crammed in side by side. I love that I have no choice but to brush my hip against him and place my hand on his shoulder to stabilize myself as I lean over.