Page 11 of Bad Boys Don’t Date Clumsy Girls

“That’s not a fish place, is it?” Bek asks.

I chuckle under my breath while Sam growls in frustration. “When have we ever eaten at a seafood restaurant, Bek?”

“I just want to make sure,” Bek says.

“We eat at Philly’s practically once a week.” Sam shakes her head at our friend. “How can you not remember?”

“I’m allergic.” Bek plays with her medical bracelet that indicates she has a seafood allergy. “I have to be careful.”

I decide to speed the conversation along to avoid Sam having an aneurism. “This is the sandwich melt place you like so much, Bek.”

“Oh.” She brightens. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d love to go there. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam catches my gaze in the rearview mirror again and winks. I give her a thumbs-up. Honestly, I don’t understand why Sam can’t just speak Bek’s language instead of getting so frustrated with her.

Philly’s is owned by the parents of two of our classmates. The restaurant wasn’t originally a teen hangout, but they renovated a back room to include long tables and sound barriers to keep the noise from bothering patrons in the rest of the establishment. There are rumors that other parents helped with the renovations because they loved the idea of a safe hang-out spot for their kids. Then the owners added a special section on the menu called “Teen Specials” which included things like bottomless fries with two kinds of dips, a side malt to dip your fries into, a large, single slice of pepperoni pizza with a side of ranch dressing, chili fries, an oversized slice of pie, and limitless drink refills. Nothing over five dollars. It totally worked. Most evenings you’ll find at least some high schoolers in the room, but weekends are always packed. Because Sam pays with her parent-issued credit card, we usually order from the regular menu.

I’m happy to see that the place isn’t too busy yet. We snag three seats at the end of one of the long tables. Prime position to see everyone once the place fills up.

I’m almost done with my burger when I realize the room is full. Mostly guys sit nearby, because guys always flock to Sam. She’s coaxing funny stories out of them, and the laughter is making the decibel level climb.

A waitress sets a new raspberry iced tea in front of me.

“Thanks.” I grin up at the woman who hadn’t even asked if I wanted a refill. My attention is drawn to the new couple pausing at the entrance of the room to search for a place to sit. My heart temporarily pauses and then my pulse kickstarts at a million miles an hour. Heat flushes through me. “What’s he doing here?”

Bek leans forward to get a view of the newcomers. “Oh, your new friend is here. How odd. I’ve never seen him here before.”

I curl my lip in disgust. “Yeah, neither have I.”

Dylan is with a girl I don’t know well. She’s a year behind us in school and doesn’t have a reputation for being part of a particular crowd that I know of. Especially not the rough, stoner crew that Dylan hangs with. I can’t help but wonder why they’re together. I try to think of the last time I noticed Dylan at school and can’t come up with anything specific. Maybe they’ve been together for a while, and I just didn’t have any reason to notice. I take pleasure in the fact that Dylan doesn’t look happy to be here. He’s scowling around the room as if he’s considering punching the first person who dares to talk to him.

His gaze falls on me, and that snarky half-grin forms on his face. He leans over to the girl and whispers something in her ear. Her eyes get wide, but he walks away before she can respond. And he heads directly toward me. Panic fills me. Why on earth is he coming this way? He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since they originally landed on me, which is equal parts compelling and frustrating. I want to hiss a complaint to Bek. But not with him watching.

“Oh, here comes your friend,” Bek says.

“He’s not my friend, Bek.” I worry that Bek will say something like that in front of Dylan. With his huge ego, he’ll know I’ve been talking about him, and probably think I’ve said stuff about how cute he is. The last thing I want is for him to get the wrong idea.

In a ridiculously smooth move, Dylan sweeps an empty chair from another table, slides it between where I sit at the head of the table and Bek to my left, and straddles it backward.

“Well, if it isn’t my new co-worker.” He plucks a French fry from my plate. “It looks like they pay you more at the shelter than they pay me.”

“Rude!” I curl my lip at the few fries that are left as if they’re now contaminated. I push the plate closer to him. “You may as well finish them now.”

Bek dumps her fries onto my plate. “Here. You can have mine too.”

Dylan nods.

I gape at him. “Dude!”

Stuffing another fry in his mouth, he raises his eyebrows. “What?”

“Thank you?”

“For what?”

I clench my fists under the table and look up to the ceiling.

“I think she’s saying you should have thanked us for the food.” Bek’s airy voice somehow cuts through the noise of the room.

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