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“Thank you.” She takes another sip, sets her milk on the nightstand, and digs back into her eggs. “These are delicious. I can’t remember the last time I had scrambled eggs.”
I frown. “What do you normally eat for breakfast?”
She shrugs. “If I eat breakfast, it’s usually a Pop-Tart or a bag of chips in the truck on the way to work. I’m not about to get up earlier just to cook myself a meal.”
I manage to work my fork into the bowl and steal a bite. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. You need to take care of yourself, Mo.”
“I know.” She sighs. “I just don’t always have the time.”
“We’re going to work on that.”
“We, huh?”
“Yes.”
Her smile is thoughtful. “I like the sound of that.”
We each take another bite, and then Mo hands me the bowl and grabs her milk. “Will you tell me more about the PBR and your life away from here? I feel like we’re always talking about me.”
My life seems to have shifted quite a bit over the last few weeks—to the point that I hardly remember what it was like before my accident.
“There isn’t much to tell. I wake up, train, and spend time with my buddies. Most of the time I’m on the road, traveling from city to city for events. It’s not very appealing.”
“Do any of your friends have an old lady?”
I lift a brow. “And old lady? What are we, a motorcycle club?”
She laughs. “You know what I mean. Are any of them married?”
“A few are, but most are single. Why?”
“I’m just curious. I feel like nothing in my life has changed and everything in yours has.”
“Does that bother you?” I ask, taking a bite of eggs.
She picks at a piece of toast, eventually tearing off a chunk and putting it in her mouth. I want to say something, get into her head and get her talking, but I decide to wait her out.
“It bothers me that I don’t know anything about you anymore. I used to know everything.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
She rolls her eyes. “Red.”
“My favorite meal?”
“Sirloin, garlic potatoes, and fried okra.”
“What did I do on my eighteenth birthday?”
“You went skydiving.”
“And what happened when I got in the air?”
Monroe snorts with laughter. “You chickened out. Realized you were scared of heights.”
“It’s not funny.” I give her a pointed look.
“It was at the time.”
