Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 175455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 877(@200wpm)___ 702(@250wpm)___ 585(@300wpm)
“Birds of a feather,” he says simply. “Jake is one of theirs, you’re not.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“You could be,” he says, giving me a once-over. “You’re attractive enough, and even though you keep to yourself, you’re clearly not shy or you wouldn’t be able to spar with me the way you do. Get yourself some Longhorn gear, one of those sparkly pony tail holders, and slap a smile on that pretty face, I’m sure you could find a spot at their table.”
“I’ll pass,” I tell him. “I used to sit with Grace and the youth group kids from our church, but they became quickly offended by the ‘ho’ coughs your jock buddies would walk by and deliver. I didn’t want to make Grace uncomfortable anymore, so until it all blows over, no cafeteria for me.”
“Well, you’ve gotta eat.”
“Last time I tried to sneak off somewhere solitary to eat, I got cornered by three jock assholes and—wait, I think you know the rest of this story,” I say sarcastically. My tone dropping to its normal decibel, I conclude, “Now I eat in my car with the doors locked.”
“That’s sad, Ellis.”
“It isn’t sad. Well, today it is, because I didn’t have a chance to pack my lunch, but most days it’s actually quite peaceful. A little bit of quiet time in the middle of the day, I can read a couple chapters of whichever book I’m reading. It’s like a little mid-day break from people. I enjoy spendin’ time by myself. I don’t need company all the time.”
Carter nods his head. “Well, today you’re gonna have company.”
“No, today I’m gonna read the whole time, not even interrupted by the sound of my own chewing.”
“Nope. You like wings?”
“Wings?” I question, glancing over at him.
“Chicken wings. You’re not some kind of vegan, are you?”
I shake my head. “No, I like wings.”
“Great. Let’s go get some.”
My eyes widen and I slow down. “What? No. It’s—We’re—The school day isn’t over, for one thing, and if you think I’m goin’ anywhere alone with you—”
Holding up a hand to halt me, he says, “Relax, Ellis. I’m not going to fuck you at Wingstop, I’m only going to feed you. You just said you didn’t bring your lunch, and as I mentioned before, I feel like I owe you a meal.”
“I am not getting in a car alone with you,” I inform him.
Unconcerned, he shrugs. “Drive yourself, then. I mean, it’s literally a one-minute drive so I think driving separately is pretty stupid, but if that makes you feel safer, knock yourself out.”
I shouldn’t even consider going anywhere with someone who has to add “if that makes you feel safer” to an invitation to hang out with him. The thought of wings does make my mouth water, though. It’s been ages since I’ve had them. We used to order wings on a Friday night once every month or so for a treat, but then Hank had to get his car fixed, it was an expensive repair, and my parents haven’t caught up enough to be able to afford even the occasional wing night at home.
“You promise this isn’t a trick?” I ask, that icky vulnerable feeling hitting me again.
Carter offers a reassuring nod. “Temporary truce.”
This is probably a terrible idea, but as if on cue, my stomach rumbles, begging me to let the nice man buy it some chicken wings. I tell my stomach he’s not a nice man at all, but my stomach decidedly doesn’t care what kind of man he is, so long as he’s buying it some chicken wings.
Sighing, I clutch my books tighter. “Fine.”
Chapter 10
I don’t know why I told him the story of my parents no longer being able to afford wing nights. I don’t know why I let him drive, or why I even agreed to come, but by the time I’m polishing off my paper-lined tray of boneless BBQ wings, I’m sort of glad I did.
If you ignore the things that make him repugnant—like his whole rapey jock thing, for example—Carter is actually pretty all right to hang out with. The 95 seconds of exposed vulnerability I felt when I slid into the passenger side of his Mustang and wondered if he might pounce on me were stressful, but he kept to the driver’s seat just like he said he would, and he has behaved himself ever since.
Instead of torturing me or trying to make me uncomfortable, he has behaved like a respectable human being. We’ve talked about Mr. Hassenfeld’s uncanny resemblance to the host from that restaurant rescue show on the Food Network, my love for iced coffee (he doesn’t get it), his love for hot wings (I don’t get it), our mutual preference for orange Popsicles (why do they even make any other flavor?), and the new comedy we both want to see, currently playing at the local movie theater.