That’s a cracked screen and a scuffed corner. Also, who the hell is Lucas?
“Shit,” he mutters, scooping it up—then spots me. Eye roll. “Listen, Dom, we both know you’re hot as sin, but stalking is not a good color on you.”
“Relax,” I say. “I wasn’t stalking.”
“Oh, so just eavesdropping on my private meltdown? Cute.”
I swear to God, this kid. He’s about ten years younger than me and has the mouth of a teenager. He infuriates me.
“Nope. That was just a bonus. I came to see what was taking so long with my sandwich. Apparently, you just sit back here on your phone all day slacking off.”
“Oh, fuck off, Dom,” he mutters, the words laced with playful frustration, and I can’t help but smirk, knowing Beckett really is a hard worker. “Your damn sandwich will be out shortly.”
I know he expects me to leave after that, but I don’t. I just stand here, leaning against the wall, ankles crossed.
“What?” he yells.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the fuck was that? My brows shoot up at his aggressive response to what is usually a little fun ribbing.
“Sorry, I’m just not in the mood for your shit today, Dom.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.” Same response I get every time I ask.
“Who were you talking to on the phone?” I try again.
“Do you also eat, or do you just stand there and smolder for attention?”
“I can do both if you feed me.”
He huffs a laugh despite himself. “Fine. Two minutes.”
“Make it one, and I’ll tip like a sinner seeking redemption.”
He steps closer, chin tipped up. “And if I make it three?”There’s the little minx.
“Then I’ll keep you company so you don’t throw that phone again.”
He glances at the poor thing. “It started it.”
“I’m sure it did. Tell you what—trade me the phone.” I open my hand.
He hesitates, then drops it into my palm. “Babysit it. If it acts up, put it in time-out.”
I know it’s not the last time I’ll talk to him tonight. The gang is all heading out to the bar, so maybe after a few drinks, he’ll let something slip, and I’ll be right there waiting. He’s not going to be able to ignore me for long.
I head back to my table, taking a seat. It’s not long after that Beckett brings out my meal. He doesn’t look at me, just sets the plate down—rather harshly, I might add—and walks away.
My stomach growls, reminding me I didn’t eat breakfast this morning. I’m not much of a morning eater. I’m more of a four cups of coffee and maybe some toast kinda person. Or better yet, a donut.
My mouth waters as I take my first bite. I’m just about to let out a moan when I realize something is off.
What the fuck? I pull apart the sandwich… No bacon. Oh, very cute, little mouse, very cute. You better hold your bacon close because I’m coming for you.
“Why are we driving? The bar is like two blocks away,” I ask, sitting in the back of Finn and Spencer’s car.
“Because it’s supposed to rain. Do you not pay attention to the weather?”
