Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Eliza is nervous.
Shite.
I’m a giant teddy bear! Harmless.
Wouldn’t hurt a fly.
Erm, that’s a fucking lie—I’d kill the bastard, especially if it were buzzing around my head while I was trying to eat. Or sleep.
She approaches the table and her waist hits the tabletop, that’s how short she is. Quite adorable actually. And pretty, too.
“You’re welcome to sit here if you’d like,” I tell her hospitably. “The place filled up as soon as I sat down.”
“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” she tells me politely.
“Intrude on what? Me stuffing my gullet?” I point to the scones on the plate in front of me and the two stuffed into a brown paper sack. “Really just getting my fix of home—you’re not intruding. And if you happen to have clotted cream somewhere, even better.”
“Um, I do not,” she says stiffly, shifting on her heels uncomfortably while looking around. Her expression of hope falters. “Are you sure?”
“Please.” Move my shite. “You came all this way. I could hardly find the place myself.”
More wavering on her part. “Only if you’re sure…”
How many times does a bloke have to ask?
Jesus.
“Do you come here often?”
Eliza raises her brow as she slides into the seat across from me, setting her bag in the corner and removing the sunglasses that were perched on her head.
She sets them on the table.
“Actually, yeah. There’s a comic store nearby that I used to work at, and it’s kind of been my secret spot ever since.”
Not so secret anymore. “Not exactly convenient.”
“Nope.” She glances around, apparently not needing a menu. “How on earth did you find it?”
I hold up a scone I’ve already smothered in butter and dipped in honey. “These.”
It gets crammed into my mouth.
I moan.
“How do they compare to the real thing?” Eliza wants to know.
“Not bad.” I inspect it before taking another bite. “Bigger than back home, but not bad.”
Americans do everything in excess for no apparent reason.
Across from me, Eliza seems to get more relaxed and more comfortable in the booth, her book bag still untouched in the corner.
“You want one?” I push my plate in her direction to offer her a late-morning breakfast.
“No thank you—I usually get a wrap.”
A wrap?
Never had one of those, never want to.
My plate remains in the center of the table as an offering on the off chance she changes her mind and wants to share.
She is still glancing around, and I have a feeling it’s because she is still trying to find a different spot to sit—some place that is not at the same table as me. I don’t blame her; I’m a totally strange bloke and she is right to be cautious even though we’re in a public place and I was just in her house.
Or perhaps that’s the reason she’s leery of me in the first place. Not that I have any designs on her or her roommate, though they are both friendly enough. Kaylee isn’t my type, although she was useful last night.
In hindsight, I probably should have—and could have—gone to that meeting; I might have learned a thing or two about the game I was supposed to be playing today. I could have gained a little bit more confidence knowing I knew at least what the positions were and what they did, rather than being terrified that Coach would put me in, terrified he’d crook his head in my direction…because the entire time I was on that sideline today?
I was basically pissing my pants like a toddler still in nappies.
Bugger that.
Now instead, I’m stuck googling videos and watching tutorials and reading The Idiot’s Guide to Rugby as the girl I met last night watches me idly from across the table.
I sigh, setting my mobile down.
“What are you looking for?” she wonders out loud, quite nosey from the outset.
“Videos.” Am I about to admit I’m a dunce?
No.
“TikTok?”
“God no.” I snort.
“Yeah, I don’t go on there either. Too easy to get addicted.”
I shrug. “If you say so.”
Eliza watches me a bit longer before admitting defeat by reaching over, unzipping her book bag, and pulling out a laptop and a notebook. Pen.
A pair of glasses.
A server appears—one who wasn’t around when I first walked in—asking us both if we’d like to order anything else, and I quirk my eyebrow in Eliza’s direction.
“Um, I’ll have a breakfast wrap please, with salsa.” She pauses. “And a cappuccino with soy milk.”
“Cappuccino? That does sound delightful.” I say it out loud before realizing how dumb it sounds.
“Do you want one, too?” the server asks, stylus hovering above the screen of a tablet.
“Sure.” Why not. “And some sausages if you have them?”
The server nods and pokes around on her pad. “Anything else?”
“I’m good,” Eliza says. “Oh—water?”
Another nod.
“I’ll take a water, too.”
“So, two waters, one breakfast wrap with salsa, two cappuccinos with soy milk.” She glances up at us before sticking the stylus back into the side of her pad.