Read Online The World: According to Rachael by Layne Harper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Layne Harper
Ads: Link
“I say we go all in. I mean YOLO, right?”
He throws his head back as a loud belly laugh, like the one last night, erupts from his mouth. “Did Rachael Early, the White House Chief of Staff, just say YOLO?” He stops laughing, and with a serious note in his voice but without losing his boyish grin, he says, “You surprise me, and by the way, that saying is so last year. Just ask my students.”
He’s smooth. Real smooth. I relish in the fact that I made someone—or is just that it’s him?—laugh. I don’t think that anyone has thought I was funny since Aiden. I made him laugh frequently. He used to tell me that I was the funniest person he knew. Stop it, Rachael, I admonish myself. Quit comparing your ex-boyfriend to your current date. I choose a self-deprecating response. “You know what the media says about me. ‘Rachael Early, the bleeding edge of pop culture.’”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they say,” he says with a slight smile and warm eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he felt sorry for me.
The waitress comes to the table and we place our order of cheeseburgers. I get mine without a bun and a side of mayonnaise. He adds jalapenos to his and makes it clear that he wants only mustard. Then, he asks for a basket of onion rings. We both get lemonade to drink.
After she’s gone, I lean back against the padded booth and say, “Okay Graham Jackson, tell me about you.”
“What is this, a job interview?” He smirks deepening his dimple.
“You and I both know that I’m going to read your Secret Service file when I arrive at work tomorrow morning. I’d rather you tell me about you than have to read your history in a blue binder with a presidential seal. Plus, the binder is oversized and heavy. Really too large to snuggle up in my favorite chair with.”
“Fine. I’ll give the five-minute version of my life’s story, but I want yours next. And it has to be the stuff that I can’t find on Google.”
“Deal.” I offer him my hand to shake on it. His large hand engulfs mine. His touch is soft, but strong.
A lot of men don’t know how to shake a petite female’s hand. I hate a squeezing grip. It reminds me of how players on the opposite team shake hands before the game. It’s used as a form of intimidation, and no one can make me feel unworthy.
I also dislike when men barely shake my hand, as if it’s so delicate that it might crumble in their strong grasp. I instantly dislike those men until they prove me wrong.
Graham’s handshake is perfect. It’s confident. It says, “I’m okay with who I am.” But it is also tender. As our hands separate, his fingertips brush the underside of my wrist, which sends shivers through my body.
If his touch has this effect, what will his lips do to me?
He’s relaxed in the booth. Not slouching. His posture is good. He appears to be comfortable. Before he speaks, he grabs his glass and takes a sip of the lemonade. I have no idea when the waitress delivered our drinks, but I also have a glass in front of me.
I pick up my red-frosted cup and bring it to my lips as he begins. “Alright Miss Early, here’s me in a nutshell. ‘It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child …’”
I almost spit lemonade out of my nose. “I love that movie. Steve Martin is one of my favorite actors. I got to meet him at a fundraiser, and I was star-struck. For once, I didn’t know what to say, so I said, ‘I love you.’ Not my finest moment,” I gush.
He leans forward so there’s nothing separating us but eighteen inches of too-thick air. “I’ve used that line so many times when I’ve been forced to talk about myself. You’re the first girl who hasn’t looked at me like I’m crazy.”
Before I can stop myself, I feel my stupid alabaster cheeks flush. Pride? Do I seriously feel pride that I’m the only girl who knows the old Steve Martin movie The Jerk ?
This is pathetic, Rachael.
“You can’t distract me with movie
He throws his head back as a loud belly laugh, like the one last night, erupts from his mouth. “Did Rachael Early, the White House Chief of Staff, just say YOLO?” He stops laughing, and with a serious note in his voice but without losing his boyish grin, he says, “You surprise me, and by the way, that saying is so last year. Just ask my students.”
He’s smooth. Real smooth. I relish in the fact that I made someone—or is just that it’s him?—laugh. I don’t think that anyone has thought I was funny since Aiden. I made him laugh frequently. He used to tell me that I was the funniest person he knew. Stop it, Rachael, I admonish myself. Quit comparing your ex-boyfriend to your current date. I choose a self-deprecating response. “You know what the media says about me. ‘Rachael Early, the bleeding edge of pop culture.’”
“Yes, that’s exactly what they say,” he says with a slight smile and warm eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that he felt sorry for me.
The waitress comes to the table and we place our order of cheeseburgers. I get mine without a bun and a side of mayonnaise. He adds jalapenos to his and makes it clear that he wants only mustard. Then, he asks for a basket of onion rings. We both get lemonade to drink.
After she’s gone, I lean back against the padded booth and say, “Okay Graham Jackson, tell me about you.”
“What is this, a job interview?” He smirks deepening his dimple.
“You and I both know that I’m going to read your Secret Service file when I arrive at work tomorrow morning. I’d rather you tell me about you than have to read your history in a blue binder with a presidential seal. Plus, the binder is oversized and heavy. Really too large to snuggle up in my favorite chair with.”
“Fine. I’ll give the five-minute version of my life’s story, but I want yours next. And it has to be the stuff that I can’t find on Google.”
“Deal.” I offer him my hand to shake on it. His large hand engulfs mine. His touch is soft, but strong.
A lot of men don’t know how to shake a petite female’s hand. I hate a squeezing grip. It reminds me of how players on the opposite team shake hands before the game. It’s used as a form of intimidation, and no one can make me feel unworthy.
I also dislike when men barely shake my hand, as if it’s so delicate that it might crumble in their strong grasp. I instantly dislike those men until they prove me wrong.
Graham’s handshake is perfect. It’s confident. It says, “I’m okay with who I am.” But it is also tender. As our hands separate, his fingertips brush the underside of my wrist, which sends shivers through my body.
If his touch has this effect, what will his lips do to me?
He’s relaxed in the booth. Not slouching. His posture is good. He appears to be comfortable. Before he speaks, he grabs his glass and takes a sip of the lemonade. I have no idea when the waitress delivered our drinks, but I also have a glass in front of me.
I pick up my red-frosted cup and bring it to my lips as he begins. “Alright Miss Early, here’s me in a nutshell. ‘It was never easy for me. I was born a poor black child …’”
I almost spit lemonade out of my nose. “I love that movie. Steve Martin is one of my favorite actors. I got to meet him at a fundraiser, and I was star-struck. For once, I didn’t know what to say, so I said, ‘I love you.’ Not my finest moment,” I gush.
He leans forward so there’s nothing separating us but eighteen inches of too-thick air. “I’ve used that line so many times when I’ve been forced to talk about myself. You’re the first girl who hasn’t looked at me like I’m crazy.”
Before I can stop myself, I feel my stupid alabaster cheeks flush. Pride? Do I seriously feel pride that I’m the only girl who knows the old Steve Martin movie The Jerk ?
This is pathetic, Rachael.
“You can’t distract me with movie
Similar Books
