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“Coffee’s on the house, sugar. Choose what you wanna eat.”
“Bacon strip pancakes. And Fried eggs.” My stomach is rumbling already.
“Egg in a hole,” Pax says, grinning. “I’ll have that.”
“And Hash Browns,” I add, before I can control my mouth. “What? They’re good.”
“And Hash Browns,” Pax repeats, her eyes twinkling. “You’re the expert here, after all.”
“Got everything.” Gina gives us both a warm smile and bustles off to give our order to the kitchen.
“She looks nice.”
“Everyone’s nice here,” I say as Gina returns with cups and the coffee. “They feed me regularly.”
“Someone has to.” Gina tsks reproachfully as she fills my cup. “You’re skinnier than a drowned rat. Lost weight, too, these past few months. You need a girl to take care of you.”
She winks at Pax, a huge, meaningful wink, and I choke on my coffee.
“Gina, stop it.”
“Food’s coming right up.” She winks again before leaving.
Shit. I glance over at Pax, afraid she’ll bolt after this, but she’s laughing softly, so phew. I guess all’s good.
I sit back, relieved and trying to hide it.
“So...tell me about yourself,” Pax says, and I tense up again.
“Okay.” I thought I’d already told her all the main bits. “What do you wanna know?”
“I don’t know. More. Like, your favorite music group, and color, and movie, and who you had a crush on at school and—”
“Whoa. Slow down.” Shit. Panic hits me, and I don’t even know why. I grip the edge of the table until it digs into my palms, hoping the light sting can ground me. “I don’t...I can’t.”
She only smiles and slides out of her seat. I watch her with narrowed eyes, expecting her to walk out because of my failure at this very first attempt at a normal conversation, one I’m guessing people have at the beginning of a relationship.
Is that what we have? A relationship?
I bet most relationships don’t start in a hotel room with the girl tied to the bedpost, screaming, and money on the table. Still...We’ve come a long way since then, haven’t we? A damn long way, and even if it takes us nowhere, I wanna try.
With her.
“Scoot over,” she says. “Riot?”
I blink at her, then the words sink in. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting with you. Duh.” She wiggles a little as she squeezes in next to me, her leg pressing into mine, warm and solid. She finds my hand, grips it. “I wanted to. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” More than okay. It loosens the knot of tension in my shoulders, dulls the panic.
“You don’t have to talk about yourself if you don’t want,” she says quietly. “And you can ask me questions, too. I just want to get to know you better.”
“I get it.” I search for the answer in my tangled mind. “I guess I’m just not used to talking about myself.” I shrug. “Besides. I don’t listen to music.”
She laughs, and I find myself laughing along, my heart lighter.
Gina arrives with a huge tray piled with our breakfast. She makes a small double take when she finds us seated on the same side, then shakes her head and laughs.
