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“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Why didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t a good fit,” I lied.
“Nah, there’s a story there. I want to know. Come on, tell me.”
I bit my lip, wondering if I could spin the story so that he’d get the idea without learning the full truth. “Okay. But you can’t tell her I told you.”
“I swear on my life that I will not tell Tavy,” he said, his tone solemn in a mocking way.
“All right. Well, I got accepted into the sorority, but Tavy didn’t. So I refused to pledge. Tavy just sat on her dorm room bed and didn’t even seem like the news had bothered her.”
“I’m guessing that’s not the end of the story.”
“She tracked down the president of the sorority’s boyfriend, kissed him, made sure it got committed to photo and sent it to the girl.”
“Vindictive and effective.” Smoke laughed.
“I like to think I was channeling Tavy when I ruined Knox’s plumbing and keyed his car.”
“Tavy doesn’t get mad, she gets even. I’m proud of her for that.”
“Most fathers would probably tell their daughters to rise above.”
“I’m not most fathers.”
“I’m getting that,” I said dryly.
“Hey, do me a favor,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Find us a motel about an hour out. I thought I could keep driving, but I’m fucking wiped. And hungry.”
My stomach growled and I reached for another candy bar and then grabbed my phone. “That, I can do.”
Chapter 5
Smoke pulled into the parking lot of the motel and cut the engine. We were in some tiny town I didn’t remember the name of, but the highway motel had vacancy and a diner within walking distance.
After we checked in, we trekked across the parking lot toward the diner. The scent of fresh food hit me, and suddenly the candy bars that had tied me over were no longer fulfilling. I wanted something greasy and heavy.
A middle-aged waitress gave a terse hello. Dark roots peeked out of her dyed, brassy blonde hair, and the smoker’s lines at the corners of her mouth were caked with pink lipstick too bright for her complexion.
She escorted us to a vacant booth. The black leather benches were worn and cracked in some places, but the table was clean.
I grabbed the laminated menus from the old wire menu holder between the condiments and set one down on the other side of the table for Smoke.
He settled into the booth, and a moment later I felt his large, booted foot graze mine as he stretched out.
I set the menu down, interlinked my fingers, and set my hands on the table. “I know what I’m getting.”
He lifted his eyes from the menu. “Yeah?”
“Yep. Chicken fried steak with extra gravy.”
