“Not too girly for you?” Waylynn grins.
“Only guys with little… I’m not worried about it.” The joke would have easily slipped from my tongue in front of a girl before, but there’s something about the sweet way she looks at me that makes me rein it in.
“I’ll share,” she offers and slides the glass closer to me. Now that I can’t ignore.
“Offer accepted,” I respond, but I don’t pick up the drink because I’m not limiting her suggestion to what’s in the glass.
Memphis pulls her closer with his hand on her neck, and his mouth goes to her ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but judging by the way her lips part and her chest rises sharply as she takes a deep breath, I think whatever it is, it’s much more direct than I was.
Waylynn
“Waylynn.”Memphis’ tone is stern, but not flat like it is when he’s fending off advances at school. I cling to Oswald’s leg but look over at Memphis because I’m helpless not to when he calls my name. “Do not apologize.”
“I am sorry though. I shouldn’t have interrupted his moment. I was just so excited for him. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what got into me, or why I felt the need to even say anything.
“Please don’t worry about it. She was looking for attention, don’t give it to her.” Bates shrugs like he’s not bothered, but I don’t know him well enough to gauge if he’s just saying that so I don’t feel like crap.
Oswald pats my hand, and I release my death grip on his leg. “I’ll be right back. Need a hand getting your stuff to the back?” He slides out of the booth.
Memphis turns my head toward him with just his finger on my chin and a tiny amount of pressure. “Bates was correct—they don’t deserve your attention.”
“I don’t care what they think about me. I won’t ever see them again, but he’s your friend.”
“Sweetness,” he murmurs softly and leans forward to give me a soft, chaste, lingering kiss. “Groupies aren’t a new phenomenon for Bates. He doesn’t care, it’s part of the job to be nice to everyone.”
“Sorry it took me so long to get over here, can I get you guys anything to drink?” The waitress roams her eyes over both of us, mostly Memphis, and lifts her arm so we can see the back of her hand as she wiggles it around. “I need to see ID or your hands,” she says before either of us order.
“A pineapple juice,” Memphis tells her, then looks at me to go next, not responding to her request.
“Do you have a non-alcoholic drink menu?”
“We have juice and soda,” the waitress answers with a lilt at the end as if she’s not even sure of that.
“A Mai Tai?” I’m sure they have orange juice and grenadine to go with the pineapple juice Memphis ordered.
“Virgin, right?”
“Yep,” I say quickly. Most of the time, they call them mocktails, but I know what she means.
“I can ask. Anything else?” She looks between us again.
“A Vernors if you have it.”
“We have ginger beer,” she offers, then plants her hand on her hip.
“That’s all,” he says, dismissing her.
“Be right back.” She spins away, and her shorts are so tiny, I see the bottom of her butt cheeks.
“You don’t drink?” Memphis scoots a little closer and puts his hand behind my head along the back of the seat.
“No, I don’t really care for how it makes me feel,” I tell him truthfully, but I don’t admit my meds make the symptoms much worse. “What about you? Pineapple juice and ginger beer?”
“The juice is for Oz, but I don’t drink much either. I like to be in control.”
A laugh erupts from my lips. I try to cover my mouth with my hand, but I’m too late.
“What’s so funny?” His lip is curled up, implying humor, so I answer him honestly.
