Page 6 of Crazy Pucking Love
“Ah.” The guy shot a big grin my way, his eyes assessing, and I smoothed a hand down my hair. “And you brought a friend tonight.”
“Megan, Larry. Larry, Megan.” Dane rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, come here a lot.”
The side of me that craved the easily quantifiable didn’t like broad terms, but this “a lot” obviously spoke of a stronger connection than the one I had with the barista from my old Starbucks, who just shoved my cup at me and moved on to the next order. It offered a tiny peek into this guy’s life, and it made me want to discover even more.
“Half the time he’s the only one in here after midnight,” Larry said. “I never know whether to pump him full of coffee or cut him off.”
“Please don’t pick tonight to cut me off. I’m in desperate need of caffeine. And I’ll take a number four, let’s go with scrambled eggs tonight.”
Larry upended the giant mug that’d been on a white saucer and poured it to the brim with coffee, the rich, heavenly aroma filling the air. Then he swung the pot in my direction and lifted it in a silent question.
“Yes, please.” I’d swayed plenty on the walk over, but I was pretty sure the slurring had calmed down—Dane assured me no one in the diner would care if I was a bit drunk, even though I’d been worried they might report me, being I was technically underage and all. Still, coffee and more sobering up would probably be good. After the excitement of tonight, there was no reason to pretend I’d be able to sleep, anyway.
Larry filled my mug and took my order. He grabbed the menus and then paused, placing his hand on Dane’s shoulder. “When I didn’t see you these past few weeks, I thought maybe you finally realized you needed sleep.”
“Me? Nah. Not when there are pancakes to be had.”
Larry chuckled and walked away.
I tore the ring of paper holding my napkin and silverware together. “Do you have trouble sleeping?”
Dane pressed his lips together, and I’d bet money he was trying to decide how truthfully he should answer the question. I knew, because I’d experienced the same thing countless times.
“Because I do. Have trouble sleeping, that is.” I rolled the small strip of paper into a tight wad between my fingers. “Me and three a.m. are BFFs. Only it’s a toxic relationship, where I tell her that she’s a bitch and I don’t want anything to do with her anymore, and she laughs in my face and tells me it doesn’t matter what I want.”
Dane barked a laugh and ran his fingertips across his jaw as he nodded his head. “Sounds familiar.”
For a second I got caught up in the movement, in the strong line of his jaw and his long fingers. I couldn’t remember thinking about guys’ fingers in terms of sexiness before, but Dane definitely had sexy fingers. The fact that he knew what I was talking about only deepened his appeal.
Ooh, he understands me! Big check onthatpotential boyfriend point.I tried not to get too ahead of myself, but the tingly buzz working its way across my skin didn’t get the message. I dove deeper, wanting to explore the connection, and maybe so I could justify feeling it so strongly.
“Have you told people about it, only to have them say, ‘you just close your eyes and go to sleep,’ as though you honestly don’t understand how sleep works? Or they tell you to stop stressing out, like it’s that easy.”
“Like you haven’t tried every stupid thing to fall asleep before.”
“Yes!” In my excitement, I nearly overturned the ceramic caddy with the sugar and sweetener packets. But seriously, no one ever understood when I explained my insomnia—they all seemed so confused.
“And those sleeping pills,” Dane said, “either they knock you out for two years or they just lock you in a purgatory type sleeping state, where you can’t really function, but you’re still not fucking sleeping.”
“So much yes! I’ve tried everything, but it never seems worth the awful side effects. My aunt implied I wasn’t trying hard enough, as if I just didn’t want sleep bad enough. It reminded me of those sports movies where the coach is like”—I transitioned to my best fired-up-coach voice—“you have to want it. Do you really want it?”
A lopsided smile slanted across Dane’s face, but faded before it fully caught hold. “If I told my parents, they’d stress out and stop sleeping, too.” He picked up a creamer and dumped it in his coffee.
I grabbed all but one of the sugar packets, ripped them open, and dumped them in my mug.
“Jeez, want some coffee with your sugar?” he teased.
“I always use all but one of the packets, since I feel like leaving someone without at least one would be rude. But I’m sure anyone who likes sugar in their coffee thinks one packet is pathetic and is probably sadder at the proof there used to be more.”
Amusement flickered through Dane’s eyes. He reached a long, muscular arm behind him, which made his T-shirt stretch tighter across his built chest, and grabbed the sugar caddy off the other table.
“Thanks, but I don’t need…” I started to wave it away, but then I saw all the white packets just waiting to be dumped into my coffee to make it even more delicious. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’m going to need more sugar for this massive cup. Usually diners have such dinky little mugs. This is where it’s at.”
“I told you. It’s open all night, too.”
“It’s good to know there’s a place I can go during the nights sleep won’t come and I need to get out.” Number four on my list was discovering all the best places in Boston, and a sense of accomplishment rose—tonight had been a great head start on several of my Fresh Start Checklist items. “Back home, everything closed at, like, ten at the latest.”
“Where’s home?”
