Page 99 of Small Town Firsts

Benny’s—our favorite little diner—is in sight when the sound of loud exhaust pipes and a growling engine fills the air. Instinctually, I glance toward the racket, my eyes landing on none other than Brock’s big beast of a truck. After last night andthis morning, I can unequivocally say he’s not compensating for anything.

He slows as he approaches us, coming to a stop in the middle of the damn road. “Great. Just great,” I mutter as he rolls his window down.

“Are you following me?” I snap at him, ready and willing to settle for something else to eat if it means avoiding him.

He pins me with a hard stare, looking a little rumpled, but no worse for wear. “Nah, Abby Jane. Believe it or not, my world doesn’t revolve around you. I’ve actually got a life and responsibilities, not that you know anything about that.”

“Are you implying I don’t have responsibilities of my own?”

He smirks. “You said it, not me…”

Ready to tear him a new asshole, I step toward his truck, but his next words stop me short. “Good luck on the quiz today, Abby Jane. Just so you know…I aced it.”

I stand there, gaping at him as he punches the gas, leaving me fuming on the side of the road.I swear to God, if thoughts of his stupid, smug face distract me from acing this quiz…At least he’s not in Professor Doss’s Friday class with me.

Stacia’s cheeks split into a knowing grin. “Well, y’all burn hot, that’s for sure.”

Shaking off the funk he’s left me in, I paste a fake-ass smile across my face. “New rule: we don’t talk about him or anything involving him.” I link our arms and drag her toward the diner that’s just across the street. “He’s nothing but a pompous, self-righteous ass.”

I can tell my bestie has more to say on the subject, but thankfully she holds her tongue, allowing me to enjoy my grease-fest breakfast before heading off to class. On luck and caffeine alone, I make it through the quiz—and while I’m eighty-seven percent positive I aced it, that thirteen percent has my stomachtied in knots. Lord knows, if I scored anything lower than an A, I’ll ream Brock’s goody-goody, entitled ass clear into next week.

The restof my Friday is pretty uneventful—you know, aside from me stressing out over that small thirteen percent uncertainty over my grade. Not in the mood to be social, I decide to stay home and enjoy a beer in the comfort of my jammies while curled up on the couch watchingThe Mindy Project.

I blink myself awake around noon, only to find myself still agitated. Desperate to shake off this funk, I invite Stacia over and knowing me the way she does, she shows up with a paper bag full of tacos, salsa, and cheese dip in one hand and a bag of fries in the other.

I immediately snatch both bags from her and set to work. Unceremoniously I dump the fries onto a large plate before deconstructing the tacos and sprinkling the meat over the fries. I then top it off with cheese dip and salsa, plus a dollop of sour cream from my fridge.Gah. If you haven’t gorged on taco fries, have you even really lived?

Once we’re settledon the couch, Stacia wastes no time starting in on me. “So, about Brock…” However, I’ve placed him in my mental no-fly zone. So, I quickly shut her down and redirect our conversation.

“Nope! More important things to discuss…like what we’re bingeing today.”

Stacia rolls her eyes at me but doesn’t press the issue. “New Girl?”she asks.

“Always,” I confirm, because good God, I love me some Schmidt.

We watch enough episodes that we have to confirm we’re still watching four times. On the fifth, we decide to break for dinner—Cup-O-Noodles for the win. We sit in silence, savoring our cheap-ass, quintessential college meal, twirling the noodles and slurping them off of our forks.

“Fuck,” Stacia mumbles around a mouthful. “Why’s this shit so good?”

With my mouth just as full as hers, I reply. “Don’t know, don’t care.” I lift the Styrofoam cup to my lips and drink some of the spicy chicken broth and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “Oh, hey! Wanna stay the night?”

“Duh, bitch. Duh.”

After disposing of our dinner trash, we pop two bags of popcorn and continue our binge-fest until we both fall asleep on the couch. I wake up around three in the morning with a crick in my neck from laying my head against the armrest. Stacia’s legs are tangled together with mine, but she was smart enough to lay her head on a pillow.

Carefully, I slide off of the couch, and after a long stretch, I grab a quilt from the laundry room and drape it over her before heading back to sleep in my own bed.

Stacia, early riser that she is, wakes me up around nine, bouncing on my bed on all fours. “Wake up!”—Bounce—"Wake up!”—Bounce, again and again. I try to ignore her, hoping she’ll give up and go away, but no such luck. “Wake your ass up, or I’m gonna lick you!”

“Ugh. Fine. I’m up. Keep your morning-breathed tongue to yourself.”

“Yay!” she hoots.

I wipe the sleep from my eyes, expecting to see her still in the clothes she fell asleep in. But she’s not. Nope. That bitch is freshly showered and dressed in clothes from my damn closet. I quirk a brow at her, and she shrugs.

“Get showered and dressed, for today, we brunch!”

I cringe at her loud tone but shuffle to the bathroom all the same.

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