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Will do
Any news from the show yet?
Not yet
Ireallyreallyhoped Layana got accepted for the show soon.
“Let’s ride,” I said, and started driving.
One light and a two turns later, and we arrived at Uncle Momma’s Pancake Emporium.
“How exactly does one become an uncle mama?” Tristan asked as I parked the car.
“I don’t know, but their blueberry syrup is to die for.”
With that I climbed out, cringing at my own choice of words.To die for?Really? With the whole serial killer question lingering?
He really didn’t feel like a serial killer, but I guessed if serial killers felt like serial killers, no potential victims would ever let themselves get close enough to them to become actual victims.
“What’s that look?” Tristan asked.
“What look? Me? Pshhh. Nothing.”Cool, real cool.
“You’ve helped me escape the hospital. If you’re uncomfortable, and you want an out, you can leave right now. You don’t owe me anything. We don’t know each other.”
“Don’t owe you anything?”I gaped at him. “I owe you everything. It’s my fault your face is broken.”
He stared at me.
“It’s not a question,” I said. “We’re going into this pancake house, and we’re going to chat. You’re going to tell me your last name, and where you work, and all of that jazz. I will not take no for an answer, and I won’t let you go until I’m sure you’re going to be all right. You’re my responsibility.”
His lips curved ever so slightly, and my heart lit up like a porch light, like she’d been waiting by the window for this exact sight. My heart had apparently already decided what she thought about Tristan, and it had nothing to do with him being a serial killer.
“You’re not letting me go, huh?” he asked.
“You willingly got into my car after I almost killed you. I think youwantto stay.” NowIsounded like the serial killer.
“I don’t think I’ve tried blueberry syrup before,” he said. “I hear Uncle Momma’s can’t be missed. If I left now, I’d forfeit the opportunity of a lifetime.”
I grinned at him.
I shot Layana a quick text from the sidewalk to let her know I was all right. Then we went inside and settled into a small booth by the window. The waitress stopped by for our drink orders, and we started with coffee.
I opened up my wallet. A cloud of dust puffed out, gagged, and fizzled into nothing. “I can only afford the coffee.”
“That’s better than I can do.”
I looked over his fancy shirt, which suggested otherwise. It looked custom-tailored to his form. Maybe he spent all of his crossing guard cash on clothes fittings, and had nothing left to eat with.
Or maybe he was just a liar.
“Do you put the syrup in your coffee?” he asked, pulling me back into the moment.
“That’s crazy talk. No, I eat it with a spoon. See?” I grabbed the bottle and poured a taste on the spoon sitting in front of me, and popped it into my mouth. It was thick and sweet, with bits of real blueberries mixed in. The sticky liquid coated the roof of my mouth and my tongue, allowing the fruity flavor to linger.Mmmm.
Tristan’s gaze darkened and he stared at my lips.
Heat and nerves carried up my neck as I squirmed under the intensity of his attention.
