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)
“Can I get y’all anything else? Some strawberry jam for those biscuits?” I ask, propping my hands on my hips.
“Do you hear her? Jam. I think I’m in love,” another guy says, this one with fiery red hair.
“You think she wants you fawning all over her?” the Asian guy says. “She’s probably got a boyfriend.”
“Do you?” the redhead asks.
There’s a sudden commotion outside, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. The press and media people who’ve been lingering outside twiddling their thumbs are now pushing and shoving each other for a chance to get to the guys walking toward Dale’s from down the sidewalk.
“Move back,” one of the security guards yells. “Move!”
The little bell dings as the diner door opens and camera flashes sneak inside, momentarily blinding me. I blink as white dots dance in my vision, and slowly, my gaze clears just in time to watch the handsome stranger from the gas station walk through the door.
“Ben! BEN! Can we ask a few questions?!”
“How do you feel about being named captain of the Olympic team?”
“Ben! Do you think Ray Murry should have been invited to join the team as an alternate?”
Their questions die off as the door slams closed behind him and his friend, the same guy who was with him at the gas station. Either one of them could be Ben, but my gut tells me it’s my stranger’s name. Ben. What a perfectly average name for an extremely un-average man.
I’m pleased to see he’s just as handsome as the last time I saw him. No imagined gorgeousness here. In an act of cruelty, he’s dressed in a way that shouldn’t be all that impressive—unassuming black t-shirt and dark jeans—but the t-shirt cuts across his toned biceps in a way that tightens my stomach. He’s picked up even more color in the few days he’s been in town, and his healthy tan emphasizes every one of his good features. His brown hair is more curly than wavy today, the short strands trying their damnedest to look unruly and tempting. The scruff he hasn’t cared to shave does nothing to dull the sharp cut of his jaw. Wonderful. Grand. Is my shift over yet?
I have a ridiculous urge to turn around and run as far away from this man as possible.
In the two days since I stood a few feet away from him at the gas pump, I’ve thought about him a lot more than I’m proud of. He’d crop up in my mind sporadically throughout my day and make my cheeks grow hot and my heart race. I’d delve into my remembered version of him, lingering on my favorite details, only to chastise myself once I realized what I was doing. I know full well this man hasn’t given me even one passing thought. I should do the same.
He hasn’t seen me yet, which I’m glad for, but his friend spots me right away.
His mouth spreads into a huge smile, and I find my mouth doing the same of its own volition.
“Hey! We know you!” He turns back to Ben. “It’s the girl who saved us.”
“She saved you?” the redhead asks. “Anthony, what are you talking about?”
Chatter fills the table as Ben follows Anthony’s gaze to find me. The weight of his stare is enough to buckle my knees. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. It feels like a two-ton boulder is pinning me down. But I’m not held hostage long. In mere seconds, he assesses me then flicks me away like I’m nothing more than a soiled napkin.
The guys at the table shuffle around without having to be told. Plates clatter, butts scoot, and two new chairs arrive for his holiness and Anthony.
They head over to take a seat, and I blink myself out of my stupor just in time to ensure no one has caught my awkward reaction to Ben.
“I didn’t save either of them,” I answer on behalf of Anthony. “They needed directions, that’s all. Now, what can I get the two of you to drink?”
“You got any fancy coffee?” Anthony asks while glancing over a menu someone’s passed down for him.
I smirk. “You must have mistaken Dale’s for someplace better. Not to burst your bubble, but we’ve got water and we’ve got black coffee so strong it’ll burn through the roof of your mouth.”
Anthony laughs. “That’s fine. Give me a cup of the mouth-burning coffee and a classic breakfast plate. Whatever eggs you like is fine by me.”
It’s impossible not to smile along with Anthony. He might be a professional basketball player, but he acts no better than the rest of us. His black skin is gorgeous and sets off his gray eyes. His hair is cropped short, nearly shaved off altogether. There’s humor and a lightness to him that doesn’t exist in Ben. At least, not on the surface.