I tap my thumbs against the steering wheel of my truck and stare ahead at the diner in front of me.
I know it in my bones that I have completely overstepped the mark but as I watch Fallon retie the bow on her apron and give my mom a nervous smile, I can’t bring myself to feel bad about it.
Fallon needed a job, and I had two.
The second that Connell approached us in the gym and said that he was Fallon’s ride home, I knew exactly how to fix her job dilemma. Fallon had said that she didn’t want me to get involved, that she wanted to sort out her situation herself, but she seemed so stressed that I wanted to fix it for her. Never mind the fact that I was responsible for getting her fired in the first place, she’d been in a state of panic since the first time I laid my eyes on her and I couldn’t see that go on any longer. So I briefly mentioned to Connell that I’d seen a job advertised for the diner in town, carefully avoiding the fact that it’s my mom’s diner and that it’s my job.
Connell’s eyes had shot to mine and he’d asked, “You didn’t tell anyone else about this job, did you?”
I remained impassive. Told him no.
Then he said, “Do me a favour and don’t mention it to anyone else? I know a girl who could really do with getting it.”
So now Fallon is wiping down the small booths that I spent my high school years doing homework at.
I’ve been working at my mom Willa’s diner every Sunday since I can remember but, as soon as I turned eighteen and got into Carter U’s hockey team, I wouldn’t let my mom pay me for the hours that I worked anymore. I still get a cheque for working my dad’s garage on Saturdays but when it comes to working with my mom I don’t feel comfortable accepting cash from her pocket. Especially now that I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’m gonna go pro with my sport – a sport that has an embarrassingly high signing figure. So when I told my mom that I needed to stop my shift at the diner because I knew someone else who really needed a job, I was confident that there would be enough cash to give Fallon a good salary, seeing as I’ve been free-labouring for the past three years. Plus I said that I’d do an extra day at the workshop with my dad, no strings attached, so I’ve successfully covered all of my bases. My mom and dad have me working the same amount of shifts, and Fallon’s about to start getting a nice steady income.
I’m fucking exhausted but I don’t care. I couldn’t watch Fallon stress out about money troubles that I could solve for one more minute without doing something about it.
As long as she doesn’t realise that I’ve set this whole thing up behind her back, everything is going to be fine.
Tanner clears his throat next to me and jerks his chin towards the windshield.
“Are we just gonna sit here and watch her or…?”
I run a hand through my hair, still wet from the shower.
“Give me another minute,” I grumble, rubbing my knuckles against my jaw.
My stubble makes a harsh scraping sound and I suddenly wonder if Fallon likes stubble on the guys that she dates. I mean, she’s a girlie type of chick – she reads romance books, she does cheer. It’s safe to take a punt that she probably doesn’t like rough-around-the-edges types of guys.
I try to picture her going on a date with one of those pastel-wearing yuppies from Frat Row and suddenly I’m throwing myself out of the truck and slamming the driver’s door after myself.
“We’re just picking up the takeout and then we’re leaving,” Tanner instructs, even though I want to spend the next two hours sitting in a diner booth so that I can watch Fallon waiting tables. But Tanner is crazy successful when it comes to chicks so I’m going to do what he’s suggested and try to not lay it on too thick.
With my mom in the back office, Fallon is the only staff member now out on the floor, and she’s pouring a coffee as we make our way over to the counter.
I look her right in the eyes as she glances up at us, trying to gauge her reaction to seeing me in here. I’m playing with fire even stopping by, seeing as half of the diners in here already know me as the owner’s kid, but I’m giving them major do not fucking talk to me vibes as I head straight towards Fallon.
She looks a whole lot surprised to see Tanner and I in here but as soon as we’re right in front of her she can barely contain her smile.
She lets out a nervous laugh and says, “Surprise! I got a job.”
I bite hard into my bottom lip to stop my own grin from spreading.
“Knew you’d find one,” I tell her, my voice sandpaper rough. A satisfied feeling spreads in my chest at the knowledge that I’m secretly responsible for this – this new financial safety net for her, the happy sparkle in her pretty eyes. It seems like a weight has been taken off her shoulders, her movements lighter and her demeanour more soft. And the look that she’s giving me… it’s a green light. Like the storm is over now and she’s ready to be open to me.
Then she says with a cute little nose-scrunch, “It’s all because of Connell really. He’s the one who told me about it.”
Tanner chokes beside me.
“Connell’s a great guy,” I grit out.
“Anyway, what can I get for you guys?” she asks as she lifts up the counter door, coffees on a tray as she takes it over to a table behind us. I turn to watch her and my eyes fall to her behind as she bends over to set down the drinks. My jaw goes slack as I let my mind wander, picturing her in nothing but that apron as I take her from b–
Tanner shoves me in the shoulder and I quickly turn back to the counter.
My cheeks are damn near on fire.
“Hunter,” he hisses. “Calm that shit, now. You don’t even know if she wants you like that yet.”
I run a palm down my face and nod once, curt. I’m getting way ahead of myself but damn if it doesn’t feel good. Finding a chick that I can’t get out of my head and finally being in a secure enough position to actually do something about it.
When Fallon slides back to the other side of the counter Tanner nods his head towards the boxes in the heater and says, “We ordered takeout.”
Fallon’s expression falls slightly, her eyes flicking over to mine. “Oh. You aren’t eating in?”
“No,” Tanner says, while I practically growl, “Yes.”
He shoots me a look and glances back down at Fallon. “We’ve got plans tonight. Maybe another time.”
“Okay,” she says, avoiding my eyes now as she heads to get the takeout boxes. Like she’s upset. I shoulder Tanner hard in the back and, if anything, the prick looks smug.
Fallon brings over two takeout boxes and this time I’m the one looking smug.
“Uh, Fallon,” I say, tilting my chin back over to the heater.
She looks back at it confused and then lifts her eyes to mine. “Yeah?”
I give her a smile. She raises her eyebrows.
“They’re all for you guys?” she asks, shooting a startled glance over at the other five boxes in the heater. “Are you serious?”
“We’re serious,” Tanner says.
She retrieves our other boxes and begins piling them into paper bags as I take my card out of my pocket and wait for her to key the order on the reader.
“Give me a minute, I’m new at this,” she mumbles after handing Tanner the bags and looking nervously down at the cash screen.
“Take your time,” I murmur.
She gives me a small grateful smile. Tanner makes a subtle retching sound.
“So, uh, do you come here a lot?” Fallon asks, tucking a curl behind her ear and glancing up at me under her lashes.
“Yeah, I come a lot. I mean – fuck – I come here a lot!” I swallow hard and grip the back of my neck. “I come here, like, a normal amount of times.”
My voice is so deep right now that I barely recognise myself. Fallon hides a small smile as she submits our order in the reader so that I can pay and then she turns around to grab our receipt from the printer. I turn a full one-eighty to stop myself looking at her perfect little ass again.
Tanner looks like he’s praying for strength. When he catches my eye he mouths, for the love of fuck, stop saying the word ‘come’.
Fallon turns back to us with the receipt and she holds it out with a warm glow on her cheeks.
“Well, see you, I guess,” she says, looking up into my eyes.
Yeah, I’m more than a little gratified that she isn’t paying Tanner a single second of attention.
I take the receipt and clench my jaw when her soft fingers brush against mine.
Tanner clears his throat and I look at him, although all I can think about is Fallon’s hand in mine. He raises his eyebrows like I’ve forgotten something. It takes me a good fifteen seconds to get my brain in gear.
“Fuck, yeah,” I rumble, and I quickly stash the receipt in one pocket while pulling the paper wristbands out of the other. “Here,” I say to Fallon, thrusting the two blue bands towards her over the counter.
She looks down at them and then back up at me, a question in her eyes.
“Our next home game. Thursday. There’s a QR code on the band that y’all have to get scanned on the door.” Not all colleges are strict about having an accounted for audience, but Carter U likes to ensure their players’ privacy and safety.
“There are two bands here,” she points out, and this time her eyes slide over to Tanner.
He looks behind himself as if he has no idea that she’s addressing him.
“Am I supposed to bring someone?” she asks.
Tanner shrugs and says to the floor, “Can if you want. Bring a roommate or something.”
Fallon makes an interested hum before sliding the bands off the counter and into her apron pouch. My eyes wander over the tight cinch of her waist before roaming up to the soft mounds of her chest. For a petite chick I’m surprised by how… full they look. I remember seeing her at the car wash in her jeans and her little cheer top, and she looked so damn hot that every window in my truck steamed up. I take a second to imagine seeing her in her whole cheer outfit and the cords in my neck instantly tighten.
I need to get back to my room and work on spraining my fucking wrist.
“We should go,” I rasp, my thickness straining against my zipper. I can barely meet Fallon’s eyes as I rake my hands through my hair and grunt, “See you Thursday.”
Tanner mumbles an equally gruff goodbye and then we muscle our way out of the doors.
When we’re both inside the truck I stare blankly out at the diner windows. I’m borderline panting. Tanner covers his face with his hands and muffles a low groan.
There’s no denying it. Fallon is really fucking hot.
“You need to beat it out of your system before you even think of asking her on a date,” Tanner says finally as I pull into a space outside of the hockey house. “I can see the way that you’re looking at her, like you’re already picturing her in a wedding dress.”
I stifle a grunt. Great. Now I really will be spraining my wrist tonight.
“I know what I’m doing,” I tell him, even though I don’t have a damn clue.
I’m still telling myself that I know what I’m doing as I throw a takeout box down on my bed and lock my bedroom door. I pull off my shirt and exhale deeply as I settle my body on top of the duvet, my muscles bunched tight.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and click the Apps button, typing in ‘Instagram’ and then hitting download. I’m not a social media user but the Carter Ridge Rangers have a team page, and damn if I don’t know that password.
I open the app as soon as it downloads, typing in the username and password and waiting for it to connect. Once I get my bearings on the app, I find my way to the search section and type in Fallon’s name.
I scroll a little until I find her and then I tap on the tiny circle with her picture.
I swallow hard as I open up her account. The little picture of her is bigger now, showing her smiling as she crushes a huge trophy against her cheek. She’s got her cheer bow in so I guess that it was taken at a previous competition.
When I realise that the rest of her pictures are hidden because her page is private, I tap the button that says follow and stare anxiously at the ‘requested’ symbol.
I inhale a deep calming breath and flick open the top button on my jeans.
Then the page refreshes and suddenly I’m in. Jesus, she must have just accepted the request. I sit up on one elbow and scroll quickly down the page. There are, like, at least twenty different pictures of her on here. I click on one where she’s wearing a white halo and I instantly recognise it as the outfit that she wore for Halloween. Then I scroll one picture further and my mouth goes dry.
The muscle in my jaw flexes, then turns rigid.
It’s a close-up photo that she took of herself, hair splayed against her pillow and a secret smile on her lips. She’s wearing a pyjama tank top and no fucking bra. My thumb jerks accidently on the image and a red heart pops up out of nowhere. Don’t know what the fuck that means, but I go with it anyway. The jerk of my thumb also means that I’ve scrolled farther down the picture, and now I can see a text caption beneath it. Why the hell anyone would read a caption when the picture looks that good I do not know, but I read it anyway and it says: Trust the process. Good things are coming.
It’s the kind of ethereal cryptic shit that I would expect from someone as enchanting as Fallon. Positive with a stressed-out undertone. Intriguing and unpredictable.
I gently move my thumb on the screen so that I’m back on the picture and I slowly ease down the zipper of my jeans.
I groan at the instant expansion and carefully shove down my boxers. Then I wrap my fist around the base and begin frantically stroking.
I’ve got this all under control.
