Page 36 of The Change Up
Warm hazel eyes are the perfect mixture of green, blue, yellow, and brown, with flecks of gold that shine even in the fluorescent lighting of the diner. His dark-brown hair is messy as if he’s been running his hands through it all morning. But it’s his smile that makes me weak in the knees. Straight, white teeth surrounded by full lips that have me wanting to know how they would feel pressed against mine.
I watch as he tilts his head back, exposing the long column of his throat, and watch his sharp Adam’s apple bob up and down. His hazel eyes find mine, and I swear I melt right there on the spot from the contact.
Stopping at the edge of their table, I try to clear my throat and form words. The two guys are hot, and I quickly find myself unable to speak. I’ve never seen either of them before, and I know I would’ve definitely remembered them, especially hazel eyes.
“H-hi, I’m Chloe, and I’ll be your waitress this morning.”
“Hi, Chloe,” the boy sitting across from hazel eyes greets. I look down with a smile and notice that he has a stunning shade of icy blue eyes.
“What can I get you guys to drink?”
They each list off their drink order: Blue Eyes orders a black coffee with cream, and Hazel Eyes orders a black coffee and water.
I go to tuck my notepad back in my apron and find those hazel eyes still staring at me. Chewing on my bottom lip, I give a small smile and let them know I’ll be back with their drinks.
Reaching for the coffee pot, Marnie slides up beside me. “I thought you’d appreciate that table a little more than me.”
“Marnie!”
“What?” she asks, amusement lacing her words. “They’re cute and way too young for my fifty-year-old self.”
I shake my head as I go back to getting their drinks.
The rest of their dining experience is spent with me fumbling over words, avoiding eye contact, blushing whenever my avoidance of eye contact failed me, and feeling like the biggest virgin ever. Of course, I was, but I didn’t need to constantly act like it. It felt like there was a neon sign pointing down on me flashing brightly, letting everyone in the diner know that I’ve never been touched.
Hazel Eyes tracks my path back to deliver their drinks. Under his watchful gaze, I feel my body start to heat and shake.
Please don’t let me drop this tray. Please don’t let me make a fool of myself.
With a small smile, I set the drinks down in front of the guys.
“Dude, I’m glad Coach moved our practice to the field down the road. This place is sweet,” Blue Eyes says, glancing around the diner. “It’s like we walked back in time. I can dig it.”
I watch as Hazel Eyes runs his hand over the back of the shiny, red leather seat. “Yeah, it’s pretty awesome.”
My eyes find his as he turns his attention back to me, and I feel the heat creep up mycheeks. Running my hands down my peach-colored uniform, I clear my throat and reach for my notepad.
“Do you guys need a minute, or are you ready to order?”
Blue Eyes skims the menu before closing it. “I’ll do the southwest omelet, wheat toast, a side of fruit, and a side of bacon.”
I jot down his order and turn my attention to Hazel Eyes. “Can I get the same, but add a cinnamon roll on the side?”
“Sure. Would you like the cinnamon roll out now while you wait?”
“Yeah, that’d be awesome.”
With a quick nod and a tight smile, I head back to the kitchen to put their order in.
A few minutes after I’ve dropped off their fruit and Hazel Eye’s cinnamon roll, the bell chimes notifying me their order is up. The guys dig in immediately after I place their plates in front of them, and I leave the bill for them to pay whenever they are done.
I’m so busy with the morning rush—taking orders and wiping down tables—that I don’t see the guys leave. Disappointment floods my lower belly, and I internally curse myself for the feeling. I don’t know these guys, and they don’t know me. Blue Eyes mentioned that their coach moved practice, and since I’ve never seen them before, I assume theyare part of the college baseball summer league. Every May through August, guys from all over the country come to our little suburb and play for the local baseball team.
Striding over to their empty table with a mixture of relief and sadness, I quickly begin clearing the empty dishes. Piling the plates together—I’m amazed at how much these two ate—I swipe the check off the table with the cash they left behind. There’s writing underneath the signature that catches my eye.
You have a beautiful smile.
Pulling my lip between my teeth, I nibble as a bashful grin pulls at my lips. If only I knew which one of the two wrote the note.
