Page 153 of Catfish

? One Minute —Krewella ?

Wade looks over the table at me like I have two heads, or I'm an alien from a neighboring galaxy, as I smash my blueberry pancakes, eggs, bacon, ham, hash browns, and toast. Maybe it’s because I just ordered a chocolate milkshake and chili fries to top it all off.

I don’t know if I prefer the way he’s looking at me now or over a half hour ago in his car when he appeared like he was going to rip me to him from across the car and fuck me with his mouth and tongue.

“What?” I ask, peering up at him with a mouth full of food and shoving, not more food, but the reflection of the possible intentions that I have floating around in my head.

Him in his suit is seriously too much to bear right now. I’ve grown used to the broody mask that he plasters on his face—it might be permanently cemented actually—but I’ve grown too accustomed to it.

Dangerously so, obviously.

Wade sips at his black coffee, out of place in this ancient diner that hasn't been refurbished probably ever in its lifetime. An old jukebox sits in the corner that isn't lit up, the red pleather booths have tears and rips from the years of people sliding in and out of them, and the menus have to be the originals.

But the food—is amazing.

“Nothing,” he replies, setting his mug down. “I’ve just never seen a woman stuff so much food in her mouth with no shame and not be over three hundred pounds.”

“My mama says the same thing, but I do too much running around, burn it right off.” I slide my plate over to him. “Want some?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Are you a coffee-for-breakfast kinda guy, Governor?” I cram more pancakes in my mouth.

“For the past couple of years, yes.”

I shake my head. “Not a healthy way to start your mornings. At least eat a donut.” I look back up at him. “You do know what a donut is, right?”

He hits me with an exasperated look. “I know what a donut is.”

“But how long has it been since you’ve had one, though?”

“Does it matter?”

“It’s un-American if it’s been longer than a week.”

“A week?” I nod. “Then maybe I shouldn’t run for president if that’s the case.”

“It’s a factor. Little things like that will win it for you big time.”

He lets out a hum then says, “And what else should I be doing? I do need to appeal to you too.”

I shrug and pick at a blueberry.

You do interest me.

“Maybe not look like you hate your life twenty-four seven.”

“I don’t hate my life.”

I squint my eyes. “Really?”

He mocks me. “Really.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Do I need to be a chatty Kathy to win the election, Miss Shelton?”

"A what?" I try my best to keep my smirk from showing, but it does anyways as I start at my hashbrowns.

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