Page 85 of For the Boys
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Brent told her. “You knew this was coming. We knew this was coming.”
“I may have mentioned it,” Berkley said. “But explaining it and doing it are two different things. The next six months are going to be really rough.”
The waitress appeared at their table before Brent could respond.
“What can I get ya?” the waitress asked, speaking directly to Brent.
“Menus would be great,” he said, flashing her that smile Berkley knew no one could resist.
The waitress stared at him a moment longer, squinting her eyes. Berkley knew that look. It was the I-know-you-but-I-can’t-remember-where-from face. Then the waitress blinked and gave her head a small shake. “Sure thing, hun.” She turned and walked away.
Berkley raised an eyebrow when Brent turned back her way.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, picking up their conversation as if the waitress hadn’t interrupted them. “Even if the only time I get to see you is when I’m bringing you food or coffee to fuel your study sessions,” he said.
“You’d really do that?”
“Berkley,” Brent said, her name like a sigh on his lips, “I would do anything for you. Haven’t I made that clear by now?”
“I might need a refresher or two,” she said.
Brent leaned forward, elbows on the table, and Berkley mirrored him.
“What kind of refresher are we talking about?” he asked, leaning closer still.
Berkley again mirrored him, their faces now inches apart. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said.
Brent closed the distance between them, his lips barely grazing hers, that citrus and woodsy scent washing over her, before someone cleared their throat nearby. Berkley shot back in her seat, cheeks flaming.
Brent, still leaning on the table, looked cool, calm, and collected as always.
The waitress set the menus down. “I’ll give you two a few minutes to look over these.”
“Thanks,” Berkley told her, shooting her his brightest smile.
Berkley was still reading the menu when her phone dinged in her pocket.
Lexie: Uhh, Berk…
Berkley: Yeah?
Lexie: I think you and Brent have been outed…
Berkley: Outed? What do you mean?
Lexie sent another message, this time a screenshot of an Instagram story. It featured two people, leaning toward each other across a table, lips inches apart.
It was a photo of Brent and Berkley from moments ago.
Berkley’s head shot up, her eyes surveying the restaurant in search of whomever had posted the photo. Her eyes caught on their waitress, who was standing at the checkout counter with two of her co-workers, alternately glancing at her phone and looking at Brent and Berkley, a smug smile on her face.
“Shit,” Berkley said, feeling all the blood drain from her face.
Brent reached out for her hand. “Berk? What’s wrong?”
“Check your Insta” was all she said before getting up and stalking out of the restaurant.
Brent caught up with her halfway down the block and grabbed her arm. “What the hell is going on?”
