Page 33 of The Late Hit
“Howthehellcanyou eat so much and still be so damn skinny?” I chuckle, watching Brynn shovel french fries dipped in cheese sauce into her mouth.
After we left the high school, she decided she wasn’t ready to head home yet, so instead, she instructed our driver to take us to the closest Steak ‘N Shake. The drive to the 24-hour diner is quiet. Both of us are lost in our own thoughts from the ceremony. We’ve been friends, hell, best friends for two years. Never, not once, has she let on that she lost more than just her brother in that accident.
Blindsided. That’s how I feel. And I’veactuallybeen blindsided by a two-hundred-fifty-pound defensive end.
Tonight’s revelation hurt worse.
“Are you judging me, Quinton Alexander?” She looks up at me with her textbook smirk.
Grabbing her strawberry milkshake, she wraps her luscious lips around the straw, sucking up the creamy, thick drink. Something swirls in my body, rushing straight to my dick. Subtly, I reach down to adjust the chub forming in my pants.
“Hell no, I’m not judgin’. I’m just wondering which one of my teammates I should have you compete against in an eating contest?”
Picking up my double steak burger, I take another bite. The team nutritionist would have a fit if she could see my meal, but it’s a bye week, and I’ll work it off, no worries. There was no way I was passing up a delicious Steakburger, fries, and a cookie dough milkshake. Especially since it’s what Brynn needed after the emotional whiplash she just endured. Watching her stuff bite after bite into her mouth brings a smile to my face.
I’m not mad at her. I’m bothered that she couldn’t trust me with the whole story. A part of me wants to question our entire friendship. Was it all surface level for her? What else hasn’t she told me?
Hell, she knows everything about my struggles with going pro, with my parents, and the lackluster relationships I have with my brothers thanks to my parents. The weight of the world is resting on me. Yeah, it might be a bit dramatic, but I’m constantly having conversations with the devil and angel on my shoulders. Constantly trying to unscramble what my hopes and dreams are, not the dreams that were planted like little seeds in my brain since birth.
“Hmm, if I were to have an eating competition with anyone on the team, who would I choose?” She ponders, bringing her hand up, as her skinny finger taps against her chin. The chin I love to grip between my fingers. “Harris. Yeah, definitely Harris.”
I bust out laughing, garnering looks from the handful of other customers. Harris is our quarterback, and he’s an animal when it comes to food. I don’t know how the hell he can stay as fit as he does while consuming the amount of food he does. I once watched him eat a large pizza, twenty-five wings, and an order of breadsticks by himself.
“All right, after we win the Natty, I’m setting up some kind of eating competition between you and Harris.”
“Deal,” Brynn replies, reaching across the table to pluck a couple of my fries from my plate. She dips them in her cheese sauce before bringing them to her mouth.
Her fingers slide between her lips before she sucks them clean.For fuck’s sake.
Our waitress appears back at our table. She slides the check onto the table while giving me another long perusal, a seductive smile spreading across her face.
“I hope everything was to your satisfaction,” she says, talking to only me, not sparing Brynn a glance. “They’ll separate your orders at the counter. I hope you’llcomeagain.”
Before she has a chance to walk away, Brynn chimes in. “Honey, here’s a tip for you.” The waitress pauses, turning back to our table excitedly. “Oh, I don’t mean a monetary tip. I mean a life tip. Next time you serve a table with two people, don’t flirt with the man. Believe me, that will not get you a bigger tip. It’ll end up biting you in the ass one of these days.”
“Excuse me,” the waitress retorts, walking even closer to our table.
Which just spurs Brynn on. My girl doesn’t hold back.
My girl? Where’d that come from?
Brynn reaches into her purse and pulls out two pennies. I know where this is going and Bitch Brynn is about to come out. Leaning back, I cross my arms waiting for the show to start. She places the two pennies on the table, sliding them toward our waitress.
“Here’s my two cents for you. Next time a guy and girl are sitting at a table together, try to keep it in your pants and pay attention to the girl, not ogle her boyfriend. Believe me, the woman will control your tip. Oh, if you want a good tip, don’t leave your phone number on the bill. That’sdefinitelya ho move.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve—” our waitress starts before she’s interrupted by Brynn again.
Brynn stands up, waving her pointer finger back and forth.
“Ah ah ah,” she starts. “The customer is always right. Next time, drink a glass of water instead of looking so thirsty.”
I can’t help it, I laugh a deep hearty chuckle. Reaching down, I grab the check and place my hand on Brynn’s lower back—where I notice her shiver—and gently, but firmly, move her toward the counter before there are more words. Bitch Brynn is feisty, and she’s entertaining, but I’m not looking to get into any fights tonight. We leave our waitress standing there with her mouth floundering like a fish.
“Thirsty ho,” Brynn murmurs under her breath.
After paying our bill, we climb into the car and head back to her house, much to Brynn’s dismay. The ride home feels normal, a lot more normal than the drive to the diner. But I can’t help but replay the conversation Brynn exchanged with our waitress. She called me her boyfriend. Never has she called me her boyfriend. We’ve had many encounters where girls flock to the two of us, it comes with the territory of being a star player at a D1 university. But she’s never acted territorial before, and I kind of like it.
Shit, what’s happening to me.
