Page 61 of Rear View
We headed for the door and Xavier held it wide, my shoulder grazing his chest as I ducked inside. The place was small, with only a handful of tables scattered around the front. The walls were red and trimmed in black, with chips of paint missing here and there. But the savory smell of meats and sauce were dense in the air. It made my stomach growl and my mouth water.
Xavier led the way as we aimed for the counter, and the younger guy behind it gave a nod. “What can I get for you?”
“Number five special, please,” Xavier said as he pulled out his wallet.
“Could we also have some ketchup on the side?” I added.
He smirked, side-eyeing me as he finished paying. “Ketchup?”
“Ketchup,” I repeated.
The employee nodded. “It’ll be about five minutes. Sit wherever you want.”
Xavier’s warm palm settled on the small of my back, heating my entire body. My tongue trailed my teeth as he steered us to a two-seater at the back of the shop and pulled out my chair.
“Such a gentleman.”
He winked.
A group of girls pushed inside, cackling before they headed up to the counter and discussed their options.
“How’s school?” he asked me.
“Good.” I shrugged. “I’m just ready to be done.”
“Is there much left?”
I laughed. “My thesis.” I set my elbows on the edge of the table. “We’re at the stage where it’s mostly fine-tuning. My prof’s kind of fickle. I’m supposed to meet him Tuesday night to catch up on a few things.”
He rubbed his chin. “Big storm comin’ Tuesday.”
What? My throat tightened. “How big?”
“If we get the weather they’re callin’ for, the city’s gonna be shut down.”
Storms meant buses getting stuck and problems getting home.
“Can you reschedule?”
“No. Barlowe is the furthest thing from reasonable.”
His mouth thinned into a hard line. “I’ll getcha when you’re done, then.”
“I can’t ask that—”
“Don’t gotta ask. Just text me what time to come. I’ll be there.”
“Oh, my God!” the blonde from the group at the counter cried. “Are you Xavier Bosch?” Her eyes were pretty and wide and fixed on him.
He held my gaze for several intense seconds before he angled the blonde’s way and gave a salute. “That’s me.” He was polite, not dismissive, but not inviting either.
“Your commercials are everywhere!” She scurried over, her friends tight on her clicky black heels. “Can we get a picture?”
Xavier’s hand fisted over the table before he stood and brushed a finger across my shoulder. “You want in, darlin’?”
The girls frowned.
A bitter tang coated my tongue. Out of sheer spite, I wanted to, but I was already toeing the line of trouble, so photos weren’t a game I could play. I shook my head.
