Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 527(@200wpm)___ 421(@250wpm)___ 351(@300wpm)
He’s not wrong.
All the way to the stadium—which isn’t all that far from ROSCOE + MIMI—Kyle has the pedal to the metal, almost running red lights along the way, both hands gripping the steering wheel as if he were in a race for his life.
I’d rather not lose mine, and besides, there isn’t a ton of traffic, at least not yet.
No cars are going into the stadium, only one or two coming out; the parking lot attendant at the chain link fence dividing the VIP parking lot from the regular parking lot is holding up his little orange traffic light when we approach.
Kyle rolls down his window and sticks his head out. “Hi. I’m the publicist for my friend here. We need to get in so we can be near the locker room exit.”
Wrong thing to say! Everyone and their mom wants to be near the locker room exit, but they pay for that privilege, and we’re crashing the parking lot with no permit or parking pass.
I smack Kyle on the arm. “Dude. What the hell.”
“Sorry, sir. You’re going to have to back up and go the other way. It’s fifteen dollars to park, but there’s only one quarter left, so if I were you, I wouldn’t waste your money.”
Kyle sniffs. “I’m well aware that there is only one quarter left.” He gives me a tap on the knee. “Show him your face and smile.”
I roll my eyes but lean over the center console, giving the parking lot attendant my best horrified grin, clenched teeth and all.
“Um, hi.” I feebly wave. “I don’t know if you recognize me, but my name is Ryann Winters and I’m dating Dallas Colter? I don’t have my car today, so my friend here had to give me a ride, and I was just watching the news and saw the story with—”
The guy cuts me off, his neon orange stick waving through the air. “Go! Don’t say another word! Go!”
He waves us through, Kyle unnecessarily stepping on the gas, though we’re in a slow speed zone. His revving a whopping one hundred feet has me slouching down in my seat, mortified.
“I had no idea you were this dramatic,” I groan. “Thank God everyone is inside the stadium.”
“Yeah—luckily I’m this dramatic or where would you be? Back at the diner twiddling your thumbs because none of y’all have a car and it would have taken you a half hour to walk here in the cold.”
He’s not wrong.
But still.
Weaving in and out of the rows, it takes a solid ten minutes to locate Dallas’s truck and park in front of it, Kyle announcing he’ll wait until the game is over before leaving me there, not wanting me standing out in the cold.
His phone buzzes.
My phone buzzes.
We each look at our messages, both of them from Winnie, in a group text.
Winnie:
WHAT IS GOING ON? I NEED AN UPDATE.
Kyle:
Just got here, they let us through the gate.
Winnie:
They let you THROUGH?? Shut up. How???
Kyle:
The guy recognized Ryann LUCKILY
Me:
More importantly, is Ben there yet? Does he know I’m gone? Is he pissed?
“Not more importantly—what the fuck?” Kyle is looking at me holding my phone while he holds his phone. “Ben is the last of our worries. I’ll quit if he threatens to fire me over this.”
That makes me laugh.
“You’ll quit if he threatens to fire you?” I shake my head. “How does that even work?
“You’re my witness, hand to God.” He kisses two fingers and lifts them skyward.
More drama.
Winnie:
Yes Ben is here, NO he’s not happy. He has to use the GRILL himself and it’s hilarious. I don’t think he has a clue what he’s doing.
Kyle:
No shit he doesn’t know what he’s doing, the man hasn’t lifted a finger in that place.
Kyle’s fingers are tap-tapping away on his cell phone screen.
Kyle:
Maybe he’ll appreciate me more instead of taking me for granted.
Winnie:
You’re his employee. It’s not taking you for granted.
I glance over at him. “She’s not wrong.”
Kyle glares. “Hush.”
Kyle:
Were there any rumblings of firings? Ryann or me?
Winnie:
I mean, he’s pretty pissed, but there are like, three other servers here now and he’s trying to figure out how not to burn the burgers…
Kyle:
Tell him NOT to press down on the hamburger patty, it’ll make them dry!
Winnie:
I’m NOT telling him anything! Why would I remind him that the chef is gone?
Kyle:
I’m a line cook, not a chef.
I look at Kyle again. “Do you have to say that every single time we bring it up?”
“Obviously.” He purses his lips.
When I set my phone in the center console cupholder and sink into the seat on the passenger side, it occurs to me I barely know Kyle at all. Is he still a student, or has he already graduated?
“What’s your major anyway?” This is the most we’ve ever sat and chatted. I have no idea what his deal is or what he’s got going on in his personal life.