Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He lets out a soft laugh, then reaches over and squeezes my leg. “That’s really fucking cool, Cody—giving extra tips like that. I’ve worked holidays, and you’re right, it does suck. Customers like you make it better, though.”
“Thanks, boo,” I reply. He’s looking at me like I just said I pay the wait staff an extra week’s pay or something, but really I just kick them down some extra cash.
“I’m going to tell you something that I find…I don’t know. Sort of a coincidence and I promise I’m not just telling you this to get into your pants either.”
“It’s really not hard—getting in my pants, I mean.”
He sets his book on the coffee table, then turns to face me, sitting cross-legged on my dark blue couch.
“Know how I told you I used to bake with my mom?” he asks.
“Yep.”
“Like I said, we didn’t have a lot of money. One year my mom had lost her job, so we were even more broke. It was Christmas, not Thanksgiving, though. We didn’t have the money for a big meal, so we had to go get food from the holiday donations.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” I shake my head. Life hasn’t always been easy on him either.
“No, it’s okay. It’s not a big deal. It was only once, and I was young, but after that, it stuck with us, that feeling, so from then on out, we’d save up around Thanksgiving and Christmas every year and get a bunch of baking supplies. We’d make cakes and cookies and cupcakes and we’d bring them down to the shelters and the food banks and give them to people. I think it’s a coincidence that you’ve been on the streets and my mom and I would donate baked goods to people there, and you and Doc make the staff at restaurants feel special every Thanksgiving.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling this sort of heaviness in my chest. That just like Doc, Hayden and his mom used to try to help people like me. “All we do is give an extra ten or fifteen bucks to a waiter…what you guys did…that’s really fucking cool, Hayden. I…” I don’t know what to say. His words hit me right in the chest, and burrow in there. “You’re good people.” Not just that. The way he cares about Lance’s feelings even though Lance didn’t care about his. The way he helps people out with their books, and the way he was there for Gary when shit went down with Travis a few months back.
Most people don’t care about others—not really. Only when it fits into something they want or need, but not Hayden.
“Let’s make Thanksgiving dinner here,” he says, then gets fidgety like a five-year-old waiting for Santa.
“Huh? You know I can’t cook.”
“I’ll cook, and you can help. I’ll teach you. We can have my mom over and Doc too. I know she’d love that. She didn’t do a lot with Lance and me. He liked to travel around the holidays. Ooh!” he says and then jumps up. “I have an even better idea! We can bake cookies for some of the shelters, or bring them downtown and give them out ourselves. We’ll do that…I don’t know. Thanksgiving morning or the day before. Then we’ll make dinner here and have Mom and Doc over.”
He’s talking so fast I can hardly understand him. His excitement radiates off him though, floats from Hayden to me in overpowering waves that make my pulse speed up and my breaths quicken too. There’s something about him that’s addicting as hell. “Um…sure?” I finally manage to spit out.
“Um, sure? Um, sure? I just had the sweetest idea in the history of the world. It deserves more than ‘um sure.’ ”
“Fuck yes!” I throw my fist in the air. “Is that better?” I ask.
“Eh, it’s okay,” Hayden replies, and on instinct, I reach out, grab his wrist and pull him to my lap.
“Oh my God! You just had the best idea ever. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it myself. From this day forward, I will bow down to your greatness!”
He wiggles, trying to push off my lap while loud laughter spills from his mouth. I wrap my arms around his waist and don’t let him go.
Finally, he stops fighting me and crosses his arms, pretending to pout. “I think you’re making fun of me,” he says.
“Well, no shit,” I reply and then lean forward and rest my forehead on his back. This means more to me than I’m letting on. “Seriously, though…I…thank you. This really does mean a lot to me. I’m a shitty baker, cook in general, but I’m excited to do this with you. It means a lot to me that you offered.”
And then I let go of him because there was no good reason for me to have pulled him onto my lap the way I did. He’s just…fun. And I have this newly discovered little crush on him. Not like I’m head over heels for the guy or anything. I just…think I might like him a little. And for the first time in my life, I’d known what it was like to be jealous the other day.