Page 30 of False Assumptions

“How is everything?” The waitress was back at their table. Layla had been so wrapped up in their conversation that she hadn’t even heard her come up.

She gave the waitress a polite smile. “Very good. Thank you.”

Evan nodded his agreement, his mouth still full.

“Let me know if you need anything else.”

They both nodded again, and the waitress left. Silence stretched between them while they both ate, but for some reason a weird tension hung between them. Wanting to dispel it, Layla turned Evan’s question back on him.

“What about you?”

His head jerked up, his eyes wide with surprise. “What?”

“What do you plan on doing after graduation?”

“Oh. Uh, I don’t graduate until this summer. Football, you know. Most of us don’t graduate on time.”

“So you’ll be taking summer classes?”

He nodded, reaching for his glass, his eyes looking … wary? That was odd. He was the one to start talking about post-graduation plans. Why did he look so cornered?

“Good for you. What about after that?”

Glancing back at his food, he shrugged while cutting another bite. “Like you said, get a job. Gotta pay for stuff, y’know?”

He seemed … off. But she pressed on. “Yeah. Do you think you’ll stick around here? Or move back home?”

He shrugged, placing another bite in his mouth.

His caginess caught Layla off guard, and she didn’t know what to make of it. So she decided to lighten the mood. “Don’t tell me—you secretly make tons of money writing tentacle porn under a pen name. You’re just throwing my answers back at me because you’re too embarrassed to tell me the truth. Right?”

A laugh rumbled out of him, growing in volume as he processed her words. A wide smile pulled her lips up too. He really had a great laugh.

After several minutes of laughing, he wiped his eyes and shook his head. “No. Tentacle porn? Seriously?”

She shrugged, her smile smaller now, but still in place. “You don’t get off on sentient plants having their way with women? Or men. It can go either way, you know.”

Evan spluttered with more laughter. “No. I did not know. And, yeah, that’s definitely not my thing. Christ. I can’t even.” He shook his head again, drawing in a deep breath. “No. Sorry. I’m not sure what to do after graduation. I’d thought about trying for the NFL. One of the guys from the team went through the Combines last year and got drafted. But …” He trailed off, his eyes drifting to the table.

“But?”

Sighing, his blue eyes found hers. “But, Elena—you remember Carter’s girlfriend?” He waited for Layla’s nod before continuing. “Well, she made Carter and I watch that movieConcussionlast month. Have you seen it?”

Layla shook her head, her eyes never leaving his.

“It’s pretty intense. It’s about the guy who discovered chronic traumatic encephalopathy and how the NFL has basically covered up what they know about it and how bad it is. They’ve paid off the players with the stipulation that they never have to divulge how much they know or for how long. They estimate that something like ninety-eight percent of professional football players have CTE. And seeing some of those guys losing their minds in that movie?” He shook his head slowly. “It made the thought of having my brains scrambled on a daily basis lose its appeal. I mean, I love football, but …” He lifted one shoulder, looking down at the table, his fingers toying with his fork.

“But you don’t want to lose your mind,” Layla filled in for him.

He looked up, the pain in his eyes turning them into fractured crystals. “Yeah. Exactly.” He sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “My fallback plan was to go back home after graduation and work with my parents if I didn’t get drafted. My mom’s a realtor, and my dad’s a contractor. They started flipping houses when I was in high school, and I’ve spent the summers working with them ever since. I could keep doing that. It’d pay well.”

The unspoken “but” hung in the air between them. Once again, Layla filled in the blank. “But it would feel like taking a giant step backward.”

“Pretty much.”

She nodded her understanding, knowing exactly how he felt. Well, not about giving up something she loved so her brain didn’t get scrambled, but about not wanting to go back home. She didn’t want to do that either, even though she knew she could. It might even be smart, especially if she wanted to save money for grad school. But she liked living on her own, and giving up her independence, even to save money, sounded awful.

“Wait a second.” Layla narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought you said your dad was a physical therapist?”

Evan cocked his head, his brows drawn together, his face a picture of confusion. “What? No. You must have me confused with someone else.”

“No,” she said slowly, pointing at him. “I distinctly remember. When I hurt my ankle, and you wanted to look at it. You asked if it would help if you said your dad was a physical therapist.”

He was silent for a second, then his face cleared, and a loud guffaw came out of him. “Oh, God. No. I was trying to get you to let me help you.” He leaned his elbows on the table, angling his body toward her. “I worded it carefully and asked if it would help if I said that. But I never actually said that.” She tried to scowl, but it was ruined by her suppressed laughter. His grin grew wider, dispelling the gloom that had descended over them when they’d discussed the future. “I’d apologize, but it worked, so I’m not actually sorry.”

The waitress’s reappearance to ask about dessert interrupted Layla before she could respond. Evan raised a questioning brow at her, but she shook her head. “I’m stuffed already. You can have something if you want.”

He shook his head too. “I’m good. Just the check, please.”

---