Page 86 of Next to Everything We Wanted
“You sure were.” I leaned back in my seat, pondering about my music tastes. “I’m honestly not a fan of hip hop and rap. I don’t want to sound old or anything, but rap music today is just too . . .”
“Intercourse-centered?”
This time, some root beer escaped with my snort. “Shoot!” I grabbed my napkin and wiped it off the table, my cheeks burning. “Now, I think that’s a dealbreaker.”
He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine.” I wiped my mouth. “Other than the inappropriate stuff hip hop promotes—oh gosh, I sound like my dad—some rappers I hear on the radio or on social media just aren’t good.”
“I agree with that,” he said. “Not that I was allowed to listen to rap. My parents were worried I’d rebel or something if I listened to that music.”
“I listened to it behind my dad’s back when I was little.”
“And how did you turn out?”
“I dropped out of school, got kicked out of the house, and joined a gang to sell drugs in the back alley.”
“Wow.” His lips parted. “So, the house you’re staying at really isn’t your house?”
“Nope.” I fought a smile. “I’ve been couch-surfing with one of the gang members.”
“That neighborhood does a good job of hiding its dangers.”
“Yeah, it—” Commotion from the booth across from us distracted me. A waitress and a drunk woman were getting into a heated argument, with the drunk woman complaining about portion sizes and how the bar could do better.
“Your waiter is the worst person to fight with,” I told Gavin. “They have the key to ruining your week.”
“That’s the reason my parents tell me to pray over my food,” Gavin said, shaking his head at the fight.
“My dad told me something like that, but we always forget.”
“How often do you get food poisoning?”
“Never.”
“Lucky.” He shook his head again. “Man, the crap they gave me at those LA restaurants.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Who’s they?”
Blood drained from his face as if I’d asked him a humiliating question. “Some people from high school.” He swallowed. “Wrong crowd.”
“I didn’t know you grew up in LA.” I remembered him telling me that his family lived in a small beach town. Had they moved? Did it have something to do with the wrong crowd?
I couldn’t afford to do a background check.
“I lived around the area, so I just refer to it as LA. April Springs is much better, anyway.” He gave me a sultry grin. “Especially when you’re here.”
My cheeks warmed. “You’ve come to the right place.”
Our waiter gave us our appetizer to share, and I brainstormed a new conversation topic while dipping my chips. I wanted to get to know him more. For him to see more of me. It seemed like there was still some distance between us when I wanted to be as close to him as possible.
“When’s your birthday?” I asked him.
“October seventeenth,” he said, putting his chips onto his plate.
“Mine’s September twenty-fourth.”
“Cool, we’re both Libras.” He smiled. “I wonder if that makes us more compatible.”
