The second I sat down, the waitress appeared. Without glancing at a menu, I ordered coffee and my favorite breakfast: a skillet scramble with eggs, elk sausage, breakfast potatoes, peppers, tomatoes, and black beans.
“Do you ever change it up?” Mike laughed.
“What’s the point when you know what you like?”
“That go for Taryn too?” I didn’t like the shrewd expression in his eyes.
“What’s the story with Derek getting his ass booted out of school?”
Mike shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him.”
The waitress brought my coffee. I thanked her and downed some nectar of the gods. I’d missed the hell out of civilian coffee, and Stella’s had the best.
“He spend a lot of time driving past Taryn’s house?”
“Nah. We just happened by, saw your car, and stopped.”
“You ever going to stop covering for him?”
Mike slugged back his coffee and waved the waitress over for a refill. “You’re a transplant, not a native. Some things go beyond your comprehension.”
I snorted.
Our meals arrived, and between bites of succulent eggs and sausage—which I doused liberally with hot sauce—I asked, “You finish up your degree?”
“Working on it. Might ’a got a little sidetracked with fraternity life.” He grinned over an unmannerly bite of scrambled eggs. “What are your plans now that you’re a free man?”
“Taking up Uncle Sam on his generous offer to put me through school.”
“Yeah? At City College?”
I hesitated. Mike was fishing, and it didn’t take a genius to know why. But once classes started, word would spread anyway. Like most places in Montana, Billings was a small town disguised as a city, and even without social media, everyone knew everyone else’s business.
“Walking on to the Wildcats. I’m starting camp right after the Fourth.”
Sitting back in the booth, he eyed me. “Ballsy.”
With a hunk of sourdough toast, I sopped up sauce and juices from the side of my plate. “It’s not the first time I’ll have had to prove myself to a new team,” I said with a nonchalance he couldn’t miss.
His brow lifted. “Yeah, but you haven’t stepped on a field in almost five years. And you’ll be playing with the big boys.”
“The head coach liked my film—and my military service. Turns out MSC is a big-time supporter of nontraditional students coming from the military.” I popped the saucy bite of sourdough into my mouth. “I’m not too worried about my chances.”
The low hum of conversations at other tables, the clattering of silverware and crockery into tubs as a kid bussed the table beside ours, and a server calling up an order intruded as Mike went quiet.
I forked another mouthful of skillet scramble, chewed, swallowed. “What’s the problem?”
“Derek entered the transfer portal, specifically aiming for Mountain State.”
“Huh.” I shoved another bite of breakfast in even though my stomach was turning over at the thought of having to play with that asshole again.
“They didn’t bite.”
My gaze flew to his, but all I said was, “Huh.”
“He’s headed to D-II Black Hills State.” Mike had a weird look on his face. “He’s not going to like hearing that you’re walking on to the Wildcats.”
“Guess what?” I wiped my napkin over my mouth. “I don’t give a rat’s ass. We aren’t in high school anymore. And getting bumped down from D-I to D-II doesn’t make Derek Watson a big man on campus.”
