God, I hope he doesn’t let me down.
Because there’s no running from the fact that if he does… it’ll break my fucking heart.
TWENTY-FOUR
ZACH’S TONGUE IS ZACH’S BUSINESS
“Denny! Zach!”Lex, one of Dopie’s servers, greets us from the stand made from the body of an old bumper car.
In a past life, Dopie must have worked in a scrapyard with the amount of refurbed vintage ‘junk’ he has decorating the diner.
“Hey, Lex.” Zach’s busy scoping out the place for people who can kickstart the rumor trail. “Can we have our usual booth, please?”
She sweeps our menus against her chest. “Sure thing! Same drinks as always?”
“Please.” Zach shifts his arm around my shoulders before pressing a kiss to my forehead.
Inside, I’m squealing. Far too busy doing an internal dance to notice that Lex’s mouth has curved into a broad smile. The first I know of it, she’s punching him in the arm. “You finally opened your eyes, huh?”
“Lex!” I sputter, taken aback by her friendliness when she’s one of the quietest on staff. ‘Aloof’ about sums her up.
“What?! He’s been at OC for a hot minute and everyone was wondering what the deal is between you two. Dopie owes me a hundred.”
Zach and I gape at her.
“You were taking bets?!”
“Do you know how boring it is serving you lot? We have to get our kicks somehow.” Lex strides over to our regular booth and drops the menus on the table. “In fact, your first sodas are on me because, boy, does Dopie owe me big.”
When Storm Lex sweeps away, we share a look before breaking outlaughing as he slides onto the bench so he’s near the wall, and I slip in next to him.
Beside his head, there are a bunch of old license plates, and the reason this is his seat is the small ledge where he rests his arm.
Not that he lets go of me with the other.
“How are you going to eat?”
“You can feed me.”
I hoot. “Who died and made you king?”
“I’m the king of the ice.”
“Collegeice. This booth is not your kingdom. You can feed yourselforme. Those are your only options.”
“No way you’ll let me feed you.”
My cheeks immediately burn. “Shut up.”
“You’re the one who offered.” I don’t trust that gleam, especially when it’s combined with him turning to face me. “I’m so ordering chocolate-covered strawberries.”
“Shut up!”
“Why, Denny, are you lost for words?”
“I still have two. Shut. Up.”
He cackles. “Third time isn’t the charm.” When he presses a kiss to my lips, I fall into it, finding comfort in this even if it’s public.
