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)
I slide out of my car and head inside. The bell on the door announces me, but the waitress doesn’t turn around.
“Mornin’. We’re not open for another ten minutes, but you’re welcome to take a seat and I’ll be with you in just a second.”
I open my mouth to speak and let her know it’s me, but she’s already pushing past the swinging door and heading into the kitchen, leaving me out here alone in the empty dining room. I head up to the counter and take a seat on a stool near the spot where she was working a second ago.
I grab a menu from the stack nearby and mull it over.
She walks through the swinging door a moment later, and I hear her stutter-step before I glance up. “Oh.”
Again, I can’t seem to form the words I want to. If Anthony were in here, he’d shoot the shit with her straight away, but I can’t even work up the nerve to say good morning.
She looks past me toward the door, as if expecting more people to walk through, but when she realizes it’s just me, she visibly swallows as if flustered.
“Hey, morning. Like I said, you’re welcome to sit and I could start you off with some coffee, but Cook’s still getting prepped back there.”
She’s already grabbing the coffee pot and heading my way before I can respond. She slides a mug in front of me.
“What’s your name?” I ask, studying her face while she concentrates on her pour.
I watch her still then she finally flicks her gaze up to me, a soft smile playing at the edge of her mouth. “Did I not introduce myself? My nan would kill me for that.”
She reaches across the counter with an outstretched hand, and when I take it, I curl my hand around hers, feeling her tremble. Maybe she’s scared because we’re alone in the dining room, or maybe my size is throwing her off. I’m not exactly small, but then she recovers and shakes my hand up and down twice before pulling away and plopping the coffee pot back down on its warming pad.
“You still didn’t tell me your name,” I point out.
She laughs and drops her chin to her chest before spinning back around to face me.
“I’m Raelynn.”
“Raelynn,” I repeat, making a subtle grunt of appreciation. “Cute.”
Her cheeks burn pink from my minuscule compliment, and I decide even more so that the name fits her.
“I’m Ben.”
Her grin stays put as she responds. “Oh, I know. Believe me. Ben Castillo, right? You’ve been the talk of the town these last few days.”
I look down and reach for my coffee.
“Are you as talented as they say you are?”
I shrug, not denying it.
She hums and gets back to work rolling some silverware.
“You play basketball, right? In the NBA?”
I glance up at her and frown as I try to read through the bullshit. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who had to ask me what I do. I almost don’t believe the innocent act until she shrugs as if she really doesn’t care.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. I was just making polite small talk. We can discuss the weather instead if you’d like.” I can tell she’s trying to clamp down on a cheeky smile, so I relent.
“Yeah, I’m in the NBA,” I say, leaning against the back of my stool and crossing my arms.
“Where do you play?”
“Los Angeles.”
Her brows hike up. “Really? I lived there for a while.”
Little Raelynn in Los Angeles? I can’t see it.
“Where?”
“Closer to Pasadena. What about you?”
“I have a place out in the Hills.”
There are other houses too, but I won’t tell her that. Her eyes are already wide.
“I always loved it over there, but I rarely made it out. I didn’t have a car in the city.”
“Really? How’d you get around?”
“Took the bus,” she says with a laugh, as if I’m a total idiot.
I’m not, I’m just a little out of touch with reality. Not like this girl in her diner dress and worn sneakers. She’s the epitome of harsh reality, and it’s with that sobering thought that I remember why I wanted to come in here in the first place.
“Can you tell me about your friend? The one in the hallway yesterday?”
The mere mention of him shutters her good mood. Her gaze shifts down, her shoulders slump, and her smile slips from her lips.
“He’s not my friend.” She points to the menu in front of me in an attempt to change the subject. “You gonna order?”
“I thought the cook was still getting prepped.”
She frowns. “Right. Yeah. I forgot how early it is.”
“Who is he then? The man who left that mark on your wrist?”
She sighs and props her hands on her hips as if to say, Are we really going to do this?