Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Solo.
Didn’t mean for certain she was single, but it was a good sign.
During the best man’s speech, I caught her looking at me, and she glanced away quickly. Her blue eyes blinked rapidly as she stared off at nothing, embarrassed I’d caught her. Another good sign.
After the speeches were over, the first course was delivered to our table. The waiter dropped off plates of overly fancy salad topped with colorful veggies. Kayla’s salad was delivered last, and both of our gazes bounced from her plate to mine in confusion.
“Excuse me . . .” She turned to ask the waiter, but the guy was already gone.
“He forgot the rest of your salad.”
“Right?” She studied her plate of plain lettuce as she picked up her fork, and then shrugged. “Weird.”
I pushed my plate toward her. “I can take it or leave it when it comes to salad. Want to trade?”
Her expression warmed, but she shook her head. “Thanks, but it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
I took mine back, poured some dressing on top, and speared my fork into it. The rest of the table had paired off in conversations, and I glanced at her, wondering what to open with.
She beat me to it. “Did you have a long drive to come to the wedding?”
“Not too bad. I have a summer internship at ARC software, just outside Toledo. You?”
“I grew up here. I’m staying with my parents for the weekend.” She grabbed the pepper shaker and sprinkled it on her plate. “How do you like your internship?”
“It’s the best unpaid job I’ve ever had,” I said dryly, “and about as exciting as your salad.” I didn’t want to come off as a whiney bitch. “It’s not all bad. The other interns and I hang out at Biff’s after work, and that’s cool.”
“Who’s Biff?”
“Not who, what. It’s a bar. I don’t think that’s the actual name, we just call it that. We’re there for happy hour most nights. Cheap beer, and the girls are—” Shit! What was I doing? “Uh, nice. Wholesome girls.”
She snorted. “The kind you’d take home to mom, huh?”
“No,” I admitted. “Actually, hell no.” She grinned and shook her head, like she found me amusing, and her blonde hair looked glossy in the low light of the banquet room. I took another bite, chewed, and then slid the plate away. “If it makes you feel better, this kind of tastes like weeds.”
“You’re familiar with what weeds taste like?”
Unfortunately, I was. I didn’t pick up my speed until my sophomore year of high school, so up until that point, I got my facemask smashed in the grass a bunch. “The landscaping on the practice field left a lot to be desired.”
Her posture went stiff. “Football? When you said you played ball, I thought . . .” Her face skewed with a strange expression. Had she figured out who I was? It seemed unlikely as she pushed her plate away. “I’m going to get that drink. You want something?”
I hadn’t touched my beer since I sat down. Maybe I’d been too distracted by her. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
While she was gone, the waiter cleared our plates and the second course arrived. Soup in small cups, which smelled good. Well, all except Kayla’s.
“What the heck?” she said as she set down her drink and plopped into her chair, staring at her soup.
“I didn’t realize yours was different until it was too late. Our server might be Batman. One second he’s there, and the next he’s gone.”
She stuck her spoon into her cup and stirred, scrutinizing the red broth. Then, she risked a taste, and her face said it all. Not good.
“It’s cabbage.” It was like even the words tasted awful. “What’s yours?”
“Minestrone, I think.” And it was delicious, but she didn’t need to know, unless . . . I inched the cup toward her. “We can share.”
“Spoons going from our mouths into the same bowl repeatedly?” Amusement lit her eyes. “Well, that sounds like a great way to get mono.”
“I don’t have mono.”
“I bet all the wholesome girls at Biff’s say that, too.”
I choked back a chuckle. “So, what do you do? Work? School?”
“School. I’m a journalism major at—”
I shot abruptly to my feet, latching an arm on the waiter’s shoulder. I had to grab him before he vaporized again. “Hey, man…” I gestured to Kayla. “What’s up with her food?”
The waiter’s bored gaze went from me down to her soup. “Is something wrong with it?”
“Not exactly,” Kayla said. “But it’s different than everyone else’s.”
Was he trying not to roll his eyes? “You ordered the dietary-restricted meal option.”
“No, I didn’t. I mean, I marked vegetarian, but—”
She was a vegetarian? I’d die without iron and protein.
“Same thing,” the guy said. There was a tone I didn’t care for, but I kept my mouth shut as the waiter looked down at her. “It’s easier if we only offer the two options, regular or restricted.”