“You’re serious?” Chester asks, hitching an eyebrow.
“Yeah. I’ll wait around,” Trent says, smug again. He steps towards Chester, reaching out to buckle his belt and smooth the front of his uniform shirt. Chester almost wants to laugh at how tender and familiar the gesture is. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll let you buy me a burger.”
Chester is speechless. He really is.
All he can do is watch as Trent winks and spins to leave. On his way to the door, he snags his jacket, grabs one of the books he’d been stealing, and bends over to pick the sunglasses off the floor. Trent tugs the tag off, pushes the glasses onto his face, and unlocks the door.
“Anyway,” Trent says, turning before he leaves. “I’ll be reading out front. Y’know, whenever you get off.”
Fucking Thursdays,Chester thinks.
It’s always Thursdays.