Harvard and Briar are rivals, and my father happens to be the head coach of the latter. “What are you doing here?” I ask.Ĭonnelly is the captain of the Harvard hockey team, AKA, THE ENEMY. Of all the people who could’ve shown up right now, this is the last one I want to see.Īs Jake Connelly slides into the other side of the booth, I greet him with a suspicious scowl rather than a smile. When a shadow falls over the tabletop, I assume it’s Stacy returning with my check. I bend my head as I rummage around in my wallet for small bills. Yes, it was just supposed to be an evening coffee date, but I still made an effort. I’m not in the mood for anything but paying for my coffee, walking back to my tiny apartment, and taking off my bra. Another long-winded apology, which I’m not in the mood to read at the moment. Three dots appear, indicating she’s typing a response, but I already know what it will be. Actually, forget “as if.” She totally has. Summer answers instantly, as if she’s been sitting by her phone waiting for a report. Her nametag reads “Stacy,” and I’m pretty sure she knows I’ve been ditched.Īs she walks off, I pick up my phone and shoot a quick text to my friend Summer. “Can I get you another coffee, hon?” The waitress, a curly-haired woman in a white-and-blue polyester uniform, eyes me sympathetically. No way am I flying back to it and subjecting myself to his overprotectiveness and terrible cooking again. Hastings is the small town I’m calling home for the next couple of years, but luckily, I don’t need to call my father’s house “home.” Dad and I might live in the same town, but before I transferred to Briar University, I made it clear I wouldn’t be moving in with him.
I’m sitting in a booth at Della’s, the ’50s-themed diner in Hastings.
Why the hell am I still at the restaurant?
I’m walking right out the door.Īt fifteen minutes, shame on me. And if the inconsiderate ass is both ten minutes late and didn’t call? Thank you, next.
Sometimes she screws you.Īt ten minutes, my patience would be running thin. I can forgive five minutes of tardiness.Īt seven minutes, I might still be somewhat receptive, especially if the lateness is accompanied by a heads-up call or text informing me he’s going to be late. Usually I’ll give guys a five-minute window.
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