Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
He grabbed two of the grease-covered plastic menus, passing one to me as I tucked my backpack to the side. “Still like the Big Timer’s Breakfast? Covered, smothered, chunked, with extra cheese? Diet Coke?” he said from behind his menu.
He’d remembered my exact Waffle Hut order, and that was enough to have butterflies erupting in my stomach. The order I still liked, but it was ten bucks. Ten bucks I didn’t have to spend on one meal. “Yeah, but I’m not that hungry.” My stomach betrayed me by growling.
He lifted a brow, and I ducked my face behind the menu. But I couldn’t keep my eyes off him for long. I’d been starved of the opportunity to look at him, and my gaze tracked the way his chest and arms strained against the material of his gray shirt.
My ogling was interrupted when a waitress with bouffant blond hair and way too much blue eyeshadow stopped beside the booth. “What can I get you, sweetheart?” She winked at Wolf.
I’d seen it a hundred times when we’d dated. Wolf was hot, and I wasn’t enough of a threat to deter them. He didn’t seem to have it in him to be rude or unkind. I’d loved that about him but also hated it because those polite smiles encouraged them. It never failed to make me feel invisible. He wasn’t my boyfriend anymore, though. I had no business feeling any kind of way about a waitress only addressing him. However, Wolf didn’t smile politely back at her. He barely even looked at her.
“An All-America Breakfast, a Big Timer’s Breakfast, covered, smothered, chunked, with extra cheese. Coke and Diet Coke,” he said, without lifting his gaze from the menu.
Unless he was eating all that, and suddenly didn’t find diet soda repulsive, he’d just ordered my breakfast for me.
Wolf tucked the plastic cards back into the metal caddy, then spared her a cursory smile. “Please, ma’am.”
She looked at me with a sour expression. “And for you?”
“Uh,” I waved across the booth. “Pretty sure he covered it.”
She shoved her notepad into her apron, then walked away, smacking her gum.
The song on the jukebox changed. “You used to be nicer.”
Wolf’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“When you were dashing their hopes…you used to be nicer.” I let out a half-hearted laugh, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
The past felt like a touchy subject. Or, judging by his blank gaze and lack of response, he just had no clue what I was talking about. Long moments of silence passed, filled only by the hiss of sizzling meat, low chatter, and the jukebox. Not awkward at all.
“So, I was thinking…” I clasped my hands on the table, quickly regretting it when they stuck to the surface. “You’re helping me, so I’m going to help you get your grades up.” It was the least I could do, and nothing really compared to him risking jail with me.
No matter what had transpired between us, I wanted Wolf to make it to the NFL. If he didn’t, well, it would feel like dreams weren’t possible for people like us. And I needed them to be possible. Every kid who’d grown up like we had needed them to be possible.
“Fair trade.” He eased back in the booth when the waitress reappeared.
She plopped our drinks on the table, mine with way more ice than Wolf’s. He took two straws from the caddy, unwrapped them, and stuck them into our drinks.
I took a big gulp of my drink. “Which are your problem classes?”
Snorting, he threw one arm along the back of the booth, looking like he was advertising the damn thing. “All of them.”
“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “The worst ones? Algebra, obviously.”
“Yeah, and biology.” He took a sip of his Coke. “I don’t even know why I have to take those classes. I’m in counseling. When am I going to be asked to do an equation or talk about mito…” His brows wrinkled in that way I’d always found stupidly endearing. “Whatever DNA?”
“Mitochondrial. And you never know. You might have an epiphany, mid-life crisis, give up football, and get a second career as an architect, or a…pharmacist?” I tried to picture Wolf behind the counter at a pharmacy, white coat and all. “Not that you’ll need a second career after said mid-life crisis, because you’ll be filthy rich after your pro-football career.” It was a good thing I was sitting down because the grin he sent my way made my knees weak. “You’ll just have to buy a Ferrari and knock up a stripper like everyone else.”
Disgust rippled across his face. “I’m not fucking a stripper…”
“That’s what they all say.” I sucked on my straw, struggling not to laugh at the grumpy look on his face, at least until I noticed his gaze drop to my lips. I quickly put down my drink.