Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 124029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 620(@200wpm)___ 496(@250wpm)___ 413(@300wpm)
“Please. I really want to join you, Grams.”
She opened her mouth, about to scold me again, when her eyes widened, lighting up at something behind me. I turned on my heel. My face immediately fell.
Please, Lord, no.
“Good evenin’, Mrs. Shaw. How’re we doin’ tonight?” West swaggered toward us, a candy cane clasped between his perfect teeth, his bastard smirk on full display. The crinkles behind his shamrock eyes reminded me of Scott Eastwood.
I wondered what the deal was with the old-school candy. He’d always favored the same green apple flavor. “Fine weather, no?”
“Lovely.” She fluffed her sprayed do, which remained as stiff as a rock. “I don’t believe we’ve met before?”
Grandma Savvy extended an arm in West’s direction. He plucked it, bowing his head and brushing her knuckles with his lips, temporarily removing the candy from his mouth.
“We haven’t, much to my dismay. West St. Claire. I work with Grace.”
“Why, she hasn’t mentioned you, I’m afraid.”
The look he shot me nearly made me giggle. He looked genuinely surprised. I had a feeling this was the first time a woman he knew didn’t make him the center of her universe.
“That so?” He narrowed his eyes at me, sticking the candy back into his mouth, biting it until it crunched. I shrugged.
“Would you and Gracie-Mae like to join Freddie and me for a bite?” Grams asked.
It was half past eleven, and she looked a mess. Her feet must’ve hurt bad; she wasn’t used to walking much. Besides, I really didn’t want Sheridan University’s baddest bad boy to spend one-on-one time with my chaotic grandmomma, no matter how shallow and ungrateful that made me feel.
“No!” I yelped at the same time West said easily, “Now, that’s a plan.”
Grams looked between us, raising an eyebrow.
“You kids need a minute to decide?”
My cheeks felt so hot I was surprised my head didn’t combust. Dying of embarrassment would be cruel, but also welcome at this point.
“West just got off a shift. I’m sure he wants to go home.”
“West can think for himself, and what he wants is a steak and good company.” West pushed me aside crudely, rolling the candy stick in his mouth seductively, flashing a rakish, well-practiced smirk my grandmomma’s way.
“Where’re your manners, Gracie-Mae? The man’s hungry, and he is asking to tag along, nice and proper. I raised her better than this, I swear.”
“Don’t doubt it for a second, ma’am.”
West opened the diner’s door for us. Grams strutted in first. He wiggled his brows at me, a taunting sneer on his face.
“Ladies first.”
“What is wrong with you?” I bared my teeth.
He let out a long-suffering sigh.
“How much time have you got, kid?”
I punched his arm as I dragged my feet past the door.
He laughed.
He actually laughed.
Like the idea of me inflicting any kind of harm on him was ludicrous.
“Did you lose a bet?” I whisper-shouted as we fell into step together.
“Did you lose your fucking mind?” he countered, sizzling of quiet danger I couldn’t understand how Grams didn’t pick on. “It’s just a meal, and your ass is not even on the menu.”
“Don’t tell me it’s not weird that you want to spend time with me and my grandmomma.”
I was Toastie, and she was a couple sandwiches shy of a picnic. Everybody knew that. Even if he hadn’t, the last ten minutes had brought him up to speed, surely. Why was he going out of his way to befriend me?
“Not everything is about you, Texas. In fact, very few things are. It’s a blessing and a curse, really. Knowing the world doesn’t revolve around your sassy little ass. Sometimes a guy just wants a steak.”
“I—”
He cut me off briskly. “Hungry. Outta my way. Now.” He jerked his head, signaling me to move along.
Grams slipped into a red horseshoe-shaped booth, and we followed suit. A middle-aged waitress materialized to take our orders. She had a pink uniform with a black and white checkered collar and bleached hair.
Ronda’s Roost was a twenty-four hour joint, catering mainly to truckers who passed by. There were only a handful of customers nursing filter coffee and cobbler. Grams asked for iced tea and chili, while West went for the Rajun Cajun club with double fries, milkshake, and an extra rare steak I would later learn was carved out of half a cow. I asked for fountain Diet Pepsi and a miracle. The waitress snapped her gum, cackling at my joke.
“Rough night, kiddo?”
“You could say that,” I mumbled, narrowing my eyes at West across the table. He smiled easily, the stubborn glint in his eyes reassuring me he didn’t mind my hostility one bit.
It was like he’d had a personality transplant overnight. Maybe he was having a mental breakdown or something, because he didn’t resemble the guy I’d seen on campus for the past two years.
Surly, quiet, and grave. With an underlying current of darkness. He walked the halls, the Student Union, the library, and Greek row like he was a man waiting for lightning to strike him.