Rylee crosses her arms, pushing her chest up and making my brain work harder to think clearly. She’s staying quiet, but she’s waiting for me, not storming away.
“We all have work in the morning. You can miss a few hours of sleep, and maybe the boss will be less cranky with fewer hours of beauty sleep.” Avery chuckles. “Since you seem to be cranky with the amount of sleep you’re getting now.”
My eyes narrow on Avery. “Fine, but I’m going for her. Not you.” I point my finger at Avery’s face, and I don’t miss the slight surprise on Rylee’s face before she schools it back to neutral.
47
RYLEE: NOW
Picking up a French fry,I dunk it in ketchup and take a bite. I love fries, but eating them late at night makes them even better, if that’s possible.
“Why won’t you agree to go out with me?” Avery asks Trish, as he faces her. One arm on the back of their booth and the other on the table, basically cornering her to get an answer.
“You’re not my type.” She flips her hair off her shoulder, avoiding his gaze. She picks up her drink and takes a sip, then plays with the straw, swirling the liquid in the cup.
I scoff because even I know she’s full of crap. She’s been flirting incessantly with him, hanging out as friends, and now that he’s taking her bait, she’s pulling away. She always wants to make guys work for it, proving they’re actually interested. It’s always been a cat-and-mouse game. It’s not my type of thing, but it seems to work for her.
He leans closer. “You and I both know that’s not true.” He kisses her on the cheek, making her flush.
I stifle a laugh and pick up my burger, taking a large bite. Clayton chuckles next to me, and I glance at him. “What?” I mumble with a full mouth. I startle, realizing how close he is. Iwas so focused on not thinking about him that somehow my butt is in the middle of the booth, making him sit on the edge. I’m glad he seems to be relaxing because I don’t like seeing him miserable, and I honestly don’t like the feeling either. What’s done is done, and I’m determined to move on.
“You still like food just as much as you used to.” He gestures to my half-eaten burger and disappearing fries.
I swallow and scoot over without making it too obvious I need a little space. “I’m hungry. What’s wrong with that?” I take another bite of my greasy, delicious burger.
Now it’s his turn to face me. “You’realwayshungry, Ry.”
I watched him throw back a shot and the rest of his beer as we left the bar, walking next door to the diner. It seems like he’s thrown caution to the wind and isn’t holding back.
“Can I get you all anything else?” our waitress, Betty, asks as she makes her rounds, topping off our drinks.
I want a milkshake, but the way Clayton is looking at me in challenge, I refuse to prove him right, so I pick up my burger and take another bite.
“She’ll take a strawberry milkshake with no whipped cream or cherry.” Clayton looks at me with his scarred eyebrow cocked. Then, glancing over his shoulder, he adds, “And I’ll take a chocolate one.”
“Oh, oh!” Trish bounces in her seat. “That sounds good. I’ll take a strawberry one too, but I want whipped cream and a cherry.” Her face beams.
Betty nods as she writes down our additional order.
“Put me down for a chocolate.” Avery leans back in the booth, stretching his arm across the back.
“Okay, I’ll get those ready for you and be back in a minute.”
We nod our thanks, and I turn to Clayton with my mouth pursed.
“Don’t even.” He shakes his head. “Stubborn thing,” he mumbles.
I scoff and go back to eating, stuffing another fry in my mouth. I didn’t miss the smirk on his lips. I sometimes forget how well he knows me. He knows my favorite foods and how much I love eating, especially late at night. Growing up, he would pick me up and we would go sit in the parking lot of a fast food place, eat, talk, and laugh. I miss those times. I swallow my last bite, and it feels like I let a rock tumble down my throat, landing with a thud. I squirm in my seat, struggling to ease the ache in my stomach.
“What’s your deal?” Trish leans over the table, eyeing Clayton right as Betty brings our shakes.
The guys slide the cups across the table, and Clayton grabs a fistful of his fries and tosses them on my plate. Trish watches him as she waits for his reply, but he shrugs and takes a long pull of his shake. Trish looks at me, then at the fries, knowing how much I like to dip them in my shake. The recognition that Clayton also knows this is written across her face.
Leaning back in my seat, I fold my hands over my stomach as I watch Avery say something to Trish. Her focus is temporarily off Clayton, but I tune them out. A rock rolls around in my stomach and is only getting larger by the minute. Clayton knows me. He knows me better than anyone else. We used to be able to talk about anything, but he shut me out. I loved working with him, but it doesn’t diminish the fact that he left me high and dry and never tried to make amends. But there’s something that I need to know that I’ve buried, and until I know the answer, I won’t be able to fully move on.
“I need to talk to you,” I say to Clayton, giving him a nudge to get out of the booth.
He looks at me, shocked, but puts down his shake, scooting off the benchto stand.
