Page 45 of Meet Hate Love
“It looks ridiculous.”
“It looks fun. Don’t be a ballsack.”
He lifted a brow, crinkling the edge of the avocado. “A ballsack?”
“Most idiots would say, ‘Don’t be a pussy,’ but vaginas are resilient. They facilitate birth. I could thump you in the testicles and you’d fall to the ground in tears. Hence, don’t be weak like a ballsack.”
Dimples popped as he fought a smile. “I know of a really good place to get brunch.”
A few blocks later,we came to a small line of café tables tucked underneath a blue and white striped awning. Vance stopped beside a wooden patio table and pulled out a chair for me. I’d never had a man pull out my chair before, and I almost hated that it made me a little giddy. Almost…
I glanced at the sign above the door of the restaurant in front of me as I took my seat. “American Breakfast?”
“Yep.” He sank to the seat across from me, then dug his phone from his pocket.
“Are you one of those people who doesn’t venture outside of their comfort zone when it comes to food? Because I’m planning to experience some amazing French cuisine while we’re here, not an All-American Grand Slam Griddle Plate.”
“I’m very adventurous with food, thank you.” He snapped a picture of the QR code adhered to the table, then passed his phone over to me so I could look at the menu. “Butlepetit déjeunerconsists of a croissant and jam, and that will not get rid of this hangover.”
And that was a very valid point.
ChapterFourteen
VANCE
Nothing cured a hangover like greasy diner food. And as the scent of fried bacon floated up from my plate, I was thankful as hell I’d discovered this place when I’d studied in Paris during college.
“You’re from Alabama, right?” Blake asked, dumping syrup over her pancakes.
I must have given her a “what the fuck” look because she half-rolled her eyes before stabbing a piece of pancake.
“I stalked your personal social media account before I blackmailed you. Which, by the way, I’m judging you for putting ‘Roll Tide’ and a football emoji in your bio. Millennial.”
Judging me for my bio? She would. “I went to the University of Alabama, and I’m not a millennial.”
“You’re close enough.”
“Like you can say anything. You have a blue flower in your bio…”
“So, you’ve stalked me, too?”
“After you tried to blackmail me, yes.” It was a lie.
I’d looked her personal account up after she’d punched me. Much to my surprise, she only had three posts. One of her and Margot. One of her in her cap and gown at her college graduation. And one of her and a man I assumed was her father.
“Anyway… the point of my asking was because I’ve always wanted to go to Alabama.”
I could honestly say that was the first time in my life I had ever heard someone say theywantedto go to Alabama. Not that it was a terrible place. I had loved growing up there, but compared to New York, it was boring. The state boasted a handful of tourist sights: the Space and Rocket Center, an iron ore statue of the Roman god Vulcan, a massive water tower in the shape of a peach, and a billboard off the side of I-65 that read: “Go to church or the devil will get you.”
“Let me guess, you want to see the peach water tower?”
“The what? No.” She dabbed her napkin to her mouth. “I’ve wanted to go ever since I watchedTalladega Nightsas a kid. It seems quaint.”
“You realize they filmed most of that movie in North Carolina?”
She dropped her napkin to the table, a deep frown setting on her face. “Don’t ruin my idea of Alabama for me.”
“I’m not the one who ruined it. The directors did,” I said.
