wouldn’t have anything to do with Mr. Tall Blonde and Gropey from the other night, would it?”
I immediately turn bright red. Crap. I forgot she saw me that night—hell, half the diner staff saw me, and the ones who didn’t probably already heard it from the ones who did. Nothing stays secret in this diner for long. “Um . . . ”
“Shit, girl. It does.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Like a hookup, or . . . ?”
“Well, we did hook up.” My cheeks continue to blaze bright red. “But, y’know, he asked me out again already.”
Another memory flashes in my mind. Our long, long kiss goodbye this morning, after he dropped me off at the steps to my apartment. It took me three tries just to climb out of his truck, because our hands kept finding one another’s bodies again, his squeezing my hip or wandering along my chest, as our mouths locked into another slow exploration. And then, just before I finally tore myself away, because I knew if I didn’t I’d never be able to leave, the way he’d caught my eye and smiled. “Dinner again tomorrow?”
My heart had almost flown straight out of my chest. For some reason, until that moment, I’d been half holding my breath. I enjoyed myself with him, that’s for damn sure, but I still assumed he was treating it like a hookup. One night and done. I’d been trying to force myself not to picture anything more, not to hope for anything beyond that single night.
“I think it could maybe be something,” I admit, in that breathless voice that I’ve only ever heard other people use when they describe a new love interest. I’ve never heard myself talk like this before.
I’ve never dared to hope it might be possible before.
I’m not sure what reaction I expected from Becca, exactly. Not happiness for me, most likely, since none of my coworkers particularly give two shits about me unless they’re badgering me to cover one of their shifts. But maybe at least a wink and a suggestive joke, or for her to bug me for details that she could share with the other gossips who work here.
At any rate, I didn’t expect the worried, almost pitying stare she’s giving me now.
“What?” I ask, because the long silence that stretches between us is getting weird.
“Well, it’s just . . . ” Becca tugs at a stray curl that dangles across her eye, then shoves it behind her ear in a whip-fast motion. “It’s just, are you sure he’s, you know, serious about a second date?”
I blink at her a few times. “Sounded like he meant it. I mean, if he’d just wanted a one-night thing, he could’ve said so. He could’ve just not asked me out.”
“Right, sure. Yeah.” But Becca continues to chew on her lip, even as she turns away from me to start working on the next order she’s putting together. I stand there with my tray of drinks, aware that the lattes are cooling and the customers waiting for them will start to get impatient soon. I can’t quite make myself let this go, though.
“Becca, what?” I repeat.
Her shoulders tense. She speaks again, this time with her back to me. Probably so she doesn’t have to watch my face when she delivers this body-blow. “It’s just, he’s really good-looking. And suave and . . . I don’t know, he seems like maybe one of those types. The . . . not-serious types.”
I laugh a little. “What, he seems not-serious just ’cause he’s hot?”
“Well, have you wondered why he . . . why he asked you out?” She still has her back to me.
That’s good, because I don’t particularly want her to see my face right now either. Suddenly I’m fucking pissed. “Why, because no hot guy could possibly want to date a cow like me?” I reply, my voice low and sharp.
“No, Sloan, that’s not what I—”
“Oh I get what you’re trying to say, Becca. Don’t worry. Message received.” I snatch up my drink tray at last and storm across the diner, practically flinging the drinks at the customers, both of whom
I immediately turn bright red. Crap. I forgot she saw me that night—hell, half the diner staff saw me, and the ones who didn’t probably already heard it from the ones who did. Nothing stays secret in this diner for long. “Um . . . ”
“Shit, girl. It does.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Like a hookup, or . . . ?”
“Well, we did hook up.” My cheeks continue to blaze bright red. “But, y’know, he asked me out again already.”
Another memory flashes in my mind. Our long, long kiss goodbye this morning, after he dropped me off at the steps to my apartment. It took me three tries just to climb out of his truck, because our hands kept finding one another’s bodies again, his squeezing my hip or wandering along my chest, as our mouths locked into another slow exploration. And then, just before I finally tore myself away, because I knew if I didn’t I’d never be able to leave, the way he’d caught my eye and smiled. “Dinner again tomorrow?”
My heart had almost flown straight out of my chest. For some reason, until that moment, I’d been half holding my breath. I enjoyed myself with him, that’s for damn sure, but I still assumed he was treating it like a hookup. One night and done. I’d been trying to force myself not to picture anything more, not to hope for anything beyond that single night.
“I think it could maybe be something,” I admit, in that breathless voice that I’ve only ever heard other people use when they describe a new love interest. I’ve never heard myself talk like this before.
I’ve never dared to hope it might be possible before.
I’m not sure what reaction I expected from Becca, exactly. Not happiness for me, most likely, since none of my coworkers particularly give two shits about me unless they’re badgering me to cover one of their shifts. But maybe at least a wink and a suggestive joke, or for her to bug me for details that she could share with the other gossips who work here.
At any rate, I didn’t expect the worried, almost pitying stare she’s giving me now.
“What?” I ask, because the long silence that stretches between us is getting weird.
“Well, it’s just . . . ” Becca tugs at a stray curl that dangles across her eye, then shoves it behind her ear in a whip-fast motion. “It’s just, are you sure he’s, you know, serious about a second date?”
I blink at her a few times. “Sounded like he meant it. I mean, if he’d just wanted a one-night thing, he could’ve said so. He could’ve just not asked me out.”
“Right, sure. Yeah.” But Becca continues to chew on her lip, even as she turns away from me to start working on the next order she’s putting together. I stand there with my tray of drinks, aware that the lattes are cooling and the customers waiting for them will start to get impatient soon. I can’t quite make myself let this go, though.
“Becca, what?” I repeat.
Her shoulders tense. She speaks again, this time with her back to me. Probably so she doesn’t have to watch my face when she delivers this body-blow. “It’s just, he’s really good-looking. And suave and . . . I don’t know, he seems like maybe one of those types. The . . . not-serious types.”
I laugh a little. “What, he seems not-serious just ’cause he’s hot?”
“Well, have you wondered why he . . . why he asked you out?” She still has her back to me.
That’s good, because I don’t particularly want her to see my face right now either. Suddenly I’m fucking pissed. “Why, because no hot guy could possibly want to date a cow like me?” I reply, my voice low and sharp.
“No, Sloan, that’s not what I—”
“Oh I get what you’re trying to say, Becca. Don’t worry. Message received.” I snatch up my drink tray at last and storm across the diner, practically flinging the drinks at the customers, both of whom
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