Page 91 of The Friend Situation

“You started it. I was on a date,” I mutter, my eyes flicking down to his hot mouth, which was buried between my legs an hour earlier.

“Hmm. If I recall,youstarted it by taking advantage of me when I was intoxicated, shoving your tongue down my throat. Give credit where credit is due. Tonight, I ended it.”

Cocky bastard.

“How doweend, Weston?”

“We don’t.Ever,” he confidently states, “bestie.”

“I like the thought of that. However, it sounds like a commitment, and you know how I feel about that.” My body is on fire, which always happens when he looks at me like that.

The server approaches and steals our attention as she smacks her bright pink gum. She glances between us, and her lips turn up into a wide smile. “Weston, you did well.”

“Of course I did,” he says.

Flirty is his style.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” she asks.

Her rockabilly vibe is complete with a pinned-up hairdo. She’s a tattooed grandma. The button pinned to her apron says as much.

“How many grandkids do you have?” I politely ask.

She smiles, pulling out her cell phone to show me her screen. On it are three blonde-haired little girls with ringlets wearing bright pink dresses.

“They’re sisters. Sweet kids. My little pride and joys. They look just like my daughter.”

I grin, feeling love radiating from her. “They’re so precious.”

“Thank you, honey. Thanks for asking. Weston usually does. Guess you beat him to it tonight.”

I glance at him, knowing him. Of course he’d ask personal questions about her family and check in. Being personable is part of his charm.

“Now, do you need more time to peruse the menu?”

“Oh, I’d like scrambled eggs with cheese, a side of crispy bacon, and a small stack of strawberry pancakes, please.” I hand her the laminated menu, which has at least fifty different items listed on each side—from steak to Belgian waffles to eggs Benedict.

“Got it,” she says, writing it down with a grin. “A woman who knows what she wants without hesitation. I like that.”

I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or Weston. She focuses on him, but he’s still watching me.

“And what about you, little Calloway?” she asks, trying to peel his attention away.

“The usual.” Nonchalance coats his tone.

When he glances at her, she waggles her brows.

I wait until we’re alone before speaking. “What was that about?”

He sips his coffee.

“No one has ever eaten here with me other than Easton. Not even when I was married. Millie has been here for forty-seven years and has watched me grow up. I used to call her my aunt. This place is like home. No matter what happens in the world or to me, it doesn’t change.” There’s a touch of vulnerability behind his casual tone.

A million questions form on the tip of my tongue.

I stir my coffee and then take a sip as he continues, “It was one of my grandfather’s favorites. When I was home from boarding school as a teenager, I’d sneak off and meet him here in the middle of the night. We kept it a tradition until he passed away. Now, I come here when I think about him or if I want a decent breakfast late at night.” It’s almost as if he’s living in the memory.

This is a side of him I hope to see more of.

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