Page 63 of Crossover

Grayson had to take a calming breath.

“How about this?” he said with a dangerous edge to his pleasant tone. “We’ll sit at a booth while we wait for our food to get cooked. We’ll leave you a fancy tip. Surely, you have containers for leftovers; you could place our order in one of those, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

Grayson pulled a fifty from his back pocket and handed it to the offended woman.

Evidently, gifts were her love language. She snatched it out of his hand, grabbed two plastic menus, and handed them to Grayson.

“I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”

I had no idea if that was ayesorI’m taking your fifty;now, sit down and shut up.

Either way, we slid into a vinyl booth in the back that had seen better decades.

As we studied the menus, my focus drifted to Grayson. The strong planes of his face, the bulk of his shoulders stretching his hoodie…combined with the rigidity of his posture and the lethal glint in his eyes, he was a magnetic contradiction. Brutal and beautiful, he looked completely out of place here. Too gorgeous to sit among mere mortals. He’d blend into a red-carpet event better. For an action movie, of course, given the gun in his waistband and mad fighting skills. I mean, my gosh, the way he carried himself with this aura of authori?—

“What can I get you?” the waitress interrupted, pencil bouncing on her little pad of paper, her crooked name tag readingIrene.

You’d think someone who got a fifty-dollar tip would be less irritated.

Grayson stared at me, waiting for me to go first, evidently.

“I’ll take a hamburger, plain.” It seemed to be the simplest thing on the menu, one I could most easily digest.

“That it?” she asked.

“And fries.” In case the burger wasn’t cooked thoroughly enough.

“She’ll have a slice of chocolate cake, too,” he said.

I silently questioned him, to which he shrugged and added, “You mentioned chocolate cake is your go-to when you’re stressed.”

He remembered that? I’d mentioned that incredibly small detail in passing a while ago.

“I’ll take the same,” Grayson said. “And two Cokes.”

“Diet Coke for me.”

“We don’t have to-go cups.”

Right.

“No drinks,” Grayson said.

After Irritated Irene snatched the menus and walked off, I twisted my fingers together, scanning the place.

“What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.

I forced my eyes to meet his, silently cursing myself for getting lost in the captivating mosaic of forest hues sparkling within them.

“You mean aside from being assaulted and nearly raped, being kidnapped, and being hunted by the CIA?”

He cocked his head, unamused.

I leaned in, keeping my voice to a rushed whisper. “What if the police find that guy?”

Stony silence.

“Maybe we should turn ourselves in,” I reasoned. “It was self-defense.”

---