Luckily, there’s a Subway inside the gas station I’m parked at. Food first, I decide and get out of the car.
The inside of the gas station is cleaner than most which bodes well for the Subway. I head to the food counter in the back, and, oh my god, I almost die when I’m hit with the heavenly smell of freshly baked bread. I guess today is going to be a good day with food seeing as I’m actually looking forward to eating.
“Can I help you?” a guy wearing a Houston Lone Star baseball cap asks me.
I’m momentarily distracted by the industrial piercing in his ear. The metal of the bar is an iridescent blue with a black skull charm in the middle. I have standard lobes Natalie let me get when I was sixteen and didn’t want to be the last girl in school who hadn’t had her ears pierced. Harper bought me the diamond eternity helix on my upper ear last year for my birthday.
“A roasted turkey wrap, with lettuce, cucumber slices, and mustard, and a bottle of water, please.”
I wince when I hand him my twenty, reluctant to let it go. He has to tug on it a few times before I give it up.
“Like your hat,” I tell him conversationally, and he gives me one of those guy chin lifts with a smirk as he pulls on clear gloves to make my wrap.
Since Bennett plays for the Lone Stars, I’m a huge fan by association. Got to support my friend’s husband. Otherwise, I couldn’t care less about the sport.
“Douglass?” a male voice says from behind me unexpectedly.
My stomach plummets like a balloon filled with lead when I turn around and am met with the smiling light brown eyes of Chase Summerfield.
Well, shit. This just got awkward.
Chase and I used to be somewhat friends. As friendly as a tutor could be with the person she was tutoring, or a lowly sophomore could be with a senior. I’d skipped a grade and was considered the smartest person at Woodspire High. Smarter than a lot of the teachers there.
For most of his senior year, I was Chase’s school-assigned before-school tutor. We’d meet up every morning an hour before first bell in the school’s library. He had to keep a certain grade point average in order to remain on the active roster for varsity football, and geometry was determined to stop that. That was where I came in. I rocked at geometry.
Chase was also Jordan’s best friend—until Jordan caught him between my sister’s legs a week before she and Jordan were supposed to get married.
“I wasn’t sure if it was really you,” he says, flashing me the megawatt smile that had girls in school crawling all over him. Amelia included.
And then panic hits. If he’s here, then Amelia… I scan the store looking for my sister but don’t see her. Doesn’t mean she’s not here somewhere. Maybe she’s in the restroom or sitting out in his car, waiting. I knew I’d run into her eventually. I had hoped that “eventually” would be weeks away. Or possibly never. Never would be much better.
“Here you go,” the guy behind the counter tells me, handing me a bag with my sandwich, then my change. He slides a bottle of water at me across the counter space, and I drop it inside the bag with my wrap.
“Thanks.”
When I make to leave, Chase is still grinning down at me. “Wow. You look great. All grown up now. It’s been a long time. How long has it been?”
Not long enough.
“Excuse me.” I try to step around him, but he blocks my way.
“They have a picnic table outside. Let me grab a soda and we can sit and catch up.”
Is he serious?
He sweeps a hand through his wavy black hair, his grin falling when he takes in my resting bitch face.
“If you have time,” he amends.
Not caring anymore if Amelia is here or not, I reply, “Time for you? No. I don’t. You’re an asshole of the lowest order. I hope Amelia was worth destroying your best friend over. Then again, you probably didn’t give one shit about Jordan. Otherwise, you would’ve kept your dick in your pants. Now kindly fuck right off.”
I have no clue what came over me or why I said that. I’ve never gone off on someone, even if they deserved it. Look at last night. Instead of confronting Jordan, I ran into the bathroom and hid.
The guy behind the counter whistles low. “Damn. Can I get your number?”
“What do you think?” Again with the back talk. Who the heck am I and where has wallflower Douglass gone?
I need to walk away before my sudden sassiness gets me into trouble, so I do just that.
