Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
She’s also dating a guy everyone at the fraternity house calls Rookie, so what does that tell you?
She’s way more fun than I am.
My best friend is full of charm and has that je ne sais quoi, as they say in France.
Not that I speak French, but I do have a T-shirt with that saying on it—I should probably give it to Winnie because she has it and I do not.
Winnie has always been more outgoing than I am, loves parties and socializing, loves makeup and glam, loves expensive purses and shoes. She’d rather spend her financial aid on dinner at the mall than on textbooks and classes.
“You’re right, you’re right. If I want to get laid, I should be more assertive…” I fail to mention that Diego and I rarely kiss or make out.
I want more heat.
I want him to feel me up.
I want him to stick his damn tongue down my throat!
You don’t know what you want, Ryann…
Yes, I do!
Then what are you waiting for?
“Hello?”
Winnie is waving her hand in the air to get my attention, holding the plate of fries in my direction as an offering.
I take another one. “Sorry.”
“Just have fun and stop overthinking everything. This isn’t a big deal. You’ve only been dating, what, four months?”
“Two.” I blush. “Overthinking things is ingrained in my blood. Blame my parents.”
“You are not your parents.”
Winnie knows my parents are therapists who love to dole out advice—they doled it out to her the last time she made the trip home with me.
“I know, but they’ve ruined me for dating.”
My parents aren’t just regular therapists—they are marriage and relationship therapists and have always emphasized open doors and honesty. They encourage me to give everyone a chance, and I’ve learned a crap ton by watching them work together over the span of my life.
They also encourage open communication, though when it comes to their own relationship? There isn’t a ton. Or if there is, it isn’t honest communication because otherwise my mother would have told me she and Dad are having issues of their own.
Guess I shouldn’t assume their marriage is perfect just because they help other couples work on their relationships, though they have the tools for success, so I would think they’d use them on each other…
But I digress.
“So you don’t think I’m wasting my time?”
Her shrug is noncommittal and not an answer.
I set the plate down on a nearby table. Time has flown and it’s time to clock in for our shift.
“Two months?” She makes an eh sound. “Maybe, maybe not. Only one way to tell, and that’s to go with what your gut is telling you.”
“My gut is telling me Diego only asked me on a date because he was bored.” I pause. “Maybe it was a dare?”
“A dare? Stop.” She squints at me like the sun is shining in her eyes, face contorted. “You don’t think he asked you out, gee, I don’t know—because you’re cute and pretty and tall?”
Cute and pretty and tall?
She enunciates every word.
I laugh. “I’m a real dude magnet with these daddy long legs.” If you consider five-foot-six tall.
“Would you stop being so self-deprecating and appreciate the fact that you have a guy who likes you? Diego Lorenz, who, by the way, is an actual catch.”
“That’s already been established.”
A customer comes in and sits in a corner booth, and the server, Monica—who was already on shift—goes over to greet her.
As veterans of the establishment, Win and I sit in the corner booth, filling salt shakers and wrapping silverware for the late shift.
In companionable silence, we each take a paper napkin, set a fork, spoon, and butter knife inside, and then roll it up. Wrap a paper ring around it to hold it together, then start all over again, stacking them in a basket for later.
Winnie cocks her head to the side as she focuses out the window. Sits up straighter, at attention, like a pointer dog that sees a bird in the distance.
“You know, that’s the second time I’ve seen that boy going into that theater.”
“Boy? What are we doing, spying on people now?”
“Not just any people.” Winnie stops rolling to stare. “Dallas Colter.” She stares through the window, across the street, where the little local movie theater rests, old and archaic and playing only vintage shows.
“Oooo, Dallas Colter.” I repeat his name the same way she crooned it, breathy and excited-like. “Who?”
She directs her shocked expression my way. “Dallas Colter?” She waits for recognition to fill my face and, when it doesn’t, looks disgusted. “The Dallas Colter?”
“He has a the in front of his name now? Oo la la.”
Winnie is not amused. “Are you being serious right now?”
“What?” I roll my eyes as I place more napkins on the table. “Is it a crime not to know who someone is?”
“No, but come on. Even I know who he is, and I don’t watch sports.”