Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Well, there was this one time–”
“Here we are, folks!” Tanya says, sliding two plates onto the table between us. “One stack of buttermilk pancakes and one two-egg combo. Can I get you guys anything else?”
“No, we’re good,” Jameson says, nearly snapping at her but showing restraint. Tanya clearly can tell something is going on and makes herself scarce. I immediately pour syrup onto my pancakes and dig in, hoping to take Jameson’s attention off Chad.
“Yum.” I smile. “Just as tasty as ever.”
But it doesn’t work. Jameson doesn’t even attempt to start eating his meal. His eyes are flicking back and forth as he thinks about what to do next. I can tell part of him wants to get up and go confront Chad, but he hasn’t done that yet because he knows I don’t want him to. So for right now, he’s just sitting and not causing a scene. And that’s what I love about him.
A lot of other guys—guys too driven by their baser instincts—would hop out of the booth and rush over there and start something that would inevitably get us kicked out and ruin our entire morning. But not Jameson. Jameson has restraint. He knows better.
I know we’re going to have to have a longer conversation about this when we get home, though, that’s for sure.
“Have some eggs, Jameson,” I encourage him, jokingly placing his fork in his hand like a mom might do with her son.
“Yeah…” His voice is soft, barely audible. He speaks the way someone does when they’re half-talking to you because they have their mind on something else.
“Oh, come on,” I say with all the levity I can muster, a huge smile on my face. “It’s no big deal. Ignore him. Are we really going to let him ruin our welcome-back-to-Becky’s breakfast?”
That snaps him out of it. His eyes snap back to me and fully focus. He smiles and shakes his head. “No we’re not. You’re right.” He forks a healthy bite of eggs into his mouth, and I chomp into my bacon. But just as I’m about to take another bite, that’s when it happens.
Chad sees me.
My whole body freezes as a look of mischievous delight comes over his face. He rises to his feet, steps out of his booth, and starts walking toward us.
It’s like watching the world slow down or one of those slow-motion scenes out of a Hollywood thriller where the bad-guy is marching toward you and you know that something terrible is about to happen.
Again, Jameson reads my emotions all over my face and reacts. But by the time he turns to look, Chad is already saddling up to our table like some kind of redneck-cowboy with an obvious attitude problem.
He doesn’t even glance at Jameson for more than a second; he simply keeps his eyes on me as he crosses his arms and gives me that sickening shit-eating grin I still remember from the end of our “relationship”—if you could even call it that.
“Well look who it is,” he says as something like a chuckle jolts its way out of his throat. “Hey, sweetie. Haven’t seen you around the house in a while.”
“Go away, Chad,” I snip back. This is a nightmare. An absolute nightmare.
“Whoa, take it easy, honeybunches,” he replies, raising his hands defensively, as if I somehow pose a threat to him. “I was just wondering why you haven’t been around the apartment in a while, that’s all. Been missing you.”
“We’re broken up, Chad. You know that. It’s been months. Now can you please go away and let us eat?”
“Us?” Chad asks, finally acknowledging Jameson with his eyes. “Who’s this guy? The next unlucky son of a bitch who you’re going to put through your teasing routine?”
Jameson stands up so quickly it’s like a blur. He’s got several inches on Chad, but Chad doesn’t back away or even flinch as Jameson gets right up in his face.
“Back off, pal,” Jameson growls. “Okay? You’re not wanted here.”
“Whoa, tough guy, huh?” Chad glances past Jameson at me and smiles. “I thought you weren’t into tough guys.”
Jameson repositions himself, blocking Chad’s view of me. I can see his fists clamped protectively by his hips, and while that does make me feel safe and warm inside, it also makes me feel tense. The last thing I want to see is an incident here in Becky’s. Jameson doesn’t know Chad and just how crazy he can get.
“Do your ears work, pal?” Jameson asks.
“Excuse me?” Chad replies.
“I said, do your ears work?”
There’s a moment’s pause, and I see Chad’s two friends walking up to join him. They look like a couple of slimeballs. Torn jeans (and not ones you get from a store to make a fashion statement), shirts covered in grease, and work boots. One of them is bordering on overweight, and is covered in tattoos, and the other is pretty scrawny but looks like he would break into your house without thinking twice. Not the nicest looking guys in the world, and that’s putting it nicely. I never did like Chad’s friends much, but it looks like he’s started hanging out with a much more unlikeable crew since we stopped seeing each other.