"I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry as hell," he says as he pats his stomach.
"Same."
"Nice."
The waitress brings our plates, and we fall into comfortable silence while we poke at our food with forks and dig in. The place feels like home in a weird way. I wonder if this feeling has anything to do with the fact that he’s here, sitting a couple of feetaway from me, his knee almost touching mine under the table. The space between us is still big enough, but it’s getting smaller every second.
"This is pretty damn good," Cruz mutters around a mouthful of eggs, bobbing his head in approval.
I wait a couple of moments, savoring the taste of warm cheese and deli meat on my sandwich. "Why are you spending time with me, anyway?" I ask eventually.
He doesn’t pause, just gives me a long, serious look. "Cuz I like you."
I feel my cheeks burn red, the space between us suddenly too small, with nowhere left to shrink. I want to disappear. Not because of what he said, but because of how my body and mind react to his words. My pulse is suddenly beating too fast, a nervous staccato just beneath my skin, like there’s a butterfly stuck there, trying to flutter its way out to freedom.
He looks at me with a knowing smile. "Why are you spending time with me?"
"Well, for starters, you’re way more fun than Jett," I blurt out before biting into my sandwich.
"I better fucking be." He lets out a low chuckle.
"You are."
My confession hangs between us.
Then out of the blue, he asks, "How long are you going to pretend?"
"Pretend what?"
"That he’s your boyfriend." Pause. "You know he’s a manipulative, narcissistic dick."
I shrug. "Not for long. Just till we get back to LA." I hold his gaze. "You’re buying, right?"
He nods. "I invited you. Of course."
We finish our food in relative silence while exchanging random jokes and staring out the window at the rain pelting thetrees and the cars in the parking lot. It seems that even the sky is crying because my relationship with Jett is about to come to an end. I’m stressed that I won’t have anywhere to go once I get back to LA, but I don’t regret my decision. Don’t regret that I’m leaving him behind.
It’s time.
After we finishour breakfast and Cruz pays the bill like he promised, we dash for the car. The rain hasn’t slowed, and the sky is the color of the eyeliner I’d use for a smokey effect, and somehow it feels comfortable, even without the sun.
"I’m so full," I confess when we’re in the car wiping the water from our faces and arms.
"It was a good breakfast," Cruz supplies, starting the car.
"You’re sure going to the lake is okay?"
"You said it yourself earlier. A bit of rain shouldn’t stop us."
"Yeah. I did say that."
I feel a little breathless, and I’m not sure if it’s from running across the parking lot or because of his proximity.
He peels out of the lot while fumbling with a piece of paper he’s retrieved from the pocket of his leather jacket.
"What’s that?" I ask.
"I drew up some directions," he explains.
