Page 6 of Fake Dates and Home Plates
With a smirk, I tell him, “Choke on it.”
Then, I do what I do best.
Run.
I’m panting as I walk into the small diner, a complete mess, trying to ignore the stares of the few patrons scattered among the tables. This place was one of the few things still open on a Saturday night besides the bars. The last place I wanted to be was another room full of drunk college kids who have probably seen social media posts about my breakup.
Which reminds me I might as well switch my phone to silent now. At least I already checked in with my parents, who should hopefully be asleep for the night.
My black dress does me the small mercy of not showing the obscene amount of sweat I feel dripping down my chest. The distance from the fraternity house to the diner is at least three miles, but it’s the only place I could think of that Dakota wouldn’t try to find me tonight. I only wish I would have stopped to take off the hot pink heels before I destroyed them and my feet.
Sitting at a random booth, I immediately remove my heels and want to cry at the relief. Maybe I should be embarrassed to be barefoot in public, especially in a restaurant, but that’s the least of my worries right now.
A woman comes over to take my order and, without judgment, offers me a sincere smile. “What can I get started for you tonight?”
While I may have escaped with my phone tonight, my small clutch is definitely still sitting in Dakota’s car. Fucking asshole. Now, I can’t even order pancakes. Considering this place leans into retro diner vibes, I doubt they take tap-to-pay.
The server must see the panic in my face, so she offers me a small smile. Her mouth opens, but she’s interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Whatever she wants is on me tonight, Tracey. Maybe just start with a water while I convince her she needs to try Sal’s French toast, though, okay?”
Theo Barlowe. He’s the first baseman for Hudson View University’s baseball team.
While I wouldn’t call us friends, he certainly isn’t a stranger. Not only did we graduate from the same high school, but I’ve heard his name too many times from Dakota. HVU is our school’s biggest rival in baseball, meaning Theo was his enemy number one.
The server nods and makes her way back to the kitchen. “You got it, Theo.”
Either he’s more popular than I'm willing to give him credit for, or he comes here frequently.
Theo makes himself comfortable in the booth across from me, and I notice he sets a book to the side of the table.
When he sees me eyeing the cover, he gives me a cocky grin. “Romance books are the number one selling genre for a reason. Plus, I’m already too good in real life. I like to challenge myself by competing with fictional men.”
I’d roll my eyes, but I don’t have the energy.
“I can pay you back for whatever I order. I don’t even know if I’m hungry.” I’m usually always hungry, especially for breakfast food. There’s never a bad time of day for breakfast. My stomach feels a little queasy after running on an empty stomach.
And I guess the whole walking in on Dakota cheating on me thing. Fuck, it probably wasn’t even the first time, considering he was willing to take the risk and do so publicly.
He nods his head like he understands. “Did you do one too many keg stands at the Douche Canoe after-party?”
It doesn’t surprise me that he knows exactly where I came from tonight. Dakota posts everything on social media, especially about his fraternity and baseball team.
“Sadly, no keg stands tonight.” The corners of my mouth lift in a forced smile.
“That’s good. I’d hate for you to vomit on another pair of my shoes.” His hazel eyes are teasing as he reminds me of the last time I talked to him.
I’ve seen him around in the three years since we graduated, considering HVU and Shoreline are only miles apart, but it’s always a quick wave or head nod. Especially with Dakota, the hypocritical, jealous prick.
I’ve always been the party girl. It’s something Dakota seemed to like about me when we met. I’m the girl who makes a dance floor when there isn’t one, the girl who brings around a tray ofshots to the people trying to hide in the corners. The same girl who won’t say no to a challenge, even if it’s silly or makes me look stupid. I’m the fun one.
“Don’t be too relieved. It could still happen.”
The server comes back and drops off two glasses of water, one for each of us, before tending to another set of diners.
I don’t realize how thirsty I am until the cool liquid is sliding down my throat. I know better than to chug a drink after running so much, but my body is craving the hydration. The glass is empty in seconds, and as I place it back on the table, I notice my uninvited table guest is staring at me.
“Is hydration a kink? Because I think I’m really into watching sweaty girls down a glass of water faster than I can shotgun a beer.”
