Changing the subject, I say, “What would you recommend here?”
“Stay away from anything pasta. The steaks are okay, but if Julio still works here they’re more likely to come out burned than anything else. The sandwiches are where it’s at.”
I turn to that part of the menu, finding names like Dolly Parton’s Boobs and Billy Ray’s Mullet.
“Hi, y’all. I’m Sheila. I’ll be your waitress this afternoon. What can I get y’all to drink?”
“Lemonade.” Vanessa smiles at her. “And I’m ready to order if he is.”
“I’m ready.”
“Okay.” She smiles at me. It’s an uneasy smile, one that I know stems from the fact that we don’t know each other well yet, but we’re going to have to work on it because if my dad sees her smile like that, he’ll know something’s up. “I’ll have the Before He Cheats on wheat with fries.”
“And for you?” The middle-aged waitress turns to me, pen poised against her pad of paper.
“Coke and the Luke Bryan’s Jeans also with fries, please.”
“I’ll get this in and be right back with your drinks.”
When the waitress is gone, Vanessa lets out a breath like she’s been unconsciously holding it. She gives me an awkward smile, her eyes darting quickly from mine to different spots around the room and back again.
I’m amused and more than a little surprised. She was such a spitfire, but all that bravado is gone for now. I have a feeling it’ll be back before I know it, and I’m more than looking forward to it. Our verbal sparring is a foreplay of a different type.
After our drinks are dropped off, I decide to get down to business.
I yank out the rumpled piece of paper from my pocket that I’ve been adding questions to over the past few days along with a pen I brought just for this occasion, because fuck if I ever normally have a pen on me.
“Favorite color?”
“Huh?” She looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language.
“Favorite color?” I repeat. “As your interim fake-boyfriend I should know things about you and vice versa. That’s why we’re here.”
“Right.” She plays with the ends of her hair, and I make a mental note of that because it must be something she does when she’s nervous. She meets my eyes, nose crinkling again. Nose crinkle, I scribble. “Um … green.” She cringes and I have no idea why. “And yours?”
“Orange.”
“Orange?” she exclaims. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with the favorite color orange.”
If I’m being honest, orange only became my favorite color when I was fourteen and overheard my father say it was the most appalling color known to man.
“Now you’ve met one. Favorite show?”
“Gilmore Girls—are you seriously taking notes?” She eyes the paper on the table between us, marred with my chicken scratch.
“I mean, with my genius level IQ I’ll more than likely remember everything you say, but better safe than sorry in case I need to study up. There’s no telling what my father might ask either of us.”
Her eyes widen. “Is he really a jerk?”
“Worse.” I squint at my smudged writing. “Where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”
She blinks at me. “Pass. A lady never tells.”
“Pssh,” I scribble down will find out later beside that answer. “Mine is a church confessional. I’m not even Catholic but I did almost see God that day.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Why would I kid about that?”
She rubs at her forehead, puffing out a breath. No doubt she’s questioning what she’s gotten herself into with me. Frankly, I feel bad for dragging her into my mess. Vanessa seems kind, even a little shy. She’s someone my dad will have far too much fun toying with, but I’ll do everything I can to protect her, especially since she’s doing me such a solid. I know she thinks it’s nothing compared to me paying for her final semester, but having her help is priceless.
“Next question,” I mutter, silently cursing my awful handwriting. It’s surprising I wasn’t forced to learn how to write neater. “Favorite food?”
“Cheeseburger.”
I grin. “My kind of girl. That’s my favorite.”
“Can I ask you a question?” She bites her lip hesitantly, eyeing the table.
“Sure. I’m an open book. Nothing’s off limits.”
She rolls her eyes, drawing random designs on the tabletop with her index finger. “Why me?”
She basically asked me the same thing the other day, and the truth is I don’t know. She wasn’t wrong when she said any girl would’ve been happy to volunteer, but when I heard her predicament it seemed like maybe we’d been placed in each other’s paths. But I don’t want to say that, or she might think I’m insane and I’m pretty sure she already thinks I’m halfway to crazy.
“Because.” Come on, Teddy, you can do better than that.
“Because why?”
Her blue eyes are large and round, waiting eagerly for my answer, for some sort of explanation.
I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know. My gut told me I could trust you, and my gut is almost always right.”
“Huh.”
“Here are your sandwiches.” The waitress interrupts us to put our plates on the table.
Vanessa wasn’t lying. The sandwiches look fucking fantastic, better than what I expected that’s for sure. My stomach rumbles again, reminding me that the one skittle I found in my cupholder and ate earlier wasn’t exactly the sustenance I need.
Neither of us say anything for a few minutes, eating in silence. I guess I’m not the only one that’s hungry.
Once the monster in my stomach is sort of happy, I get back to my list of questions.
“Where were you born?”
“A little town called White Claw, Georgia. Go ahead, laugh at the name. It’s where my family still lives.”
My lips twitch but something tells me she’ll want to throw something at me if I give into the full-blown laughter I’d like to have.
“Siblings?”
“One older sister who I’m pretty sure is the spawn of the Devil. That’s it, thank God. What about you?”
“Born in Nashville and attended a boarding school in upstate New York. No siblings. Just me. They got their male heir on the first try and didn’t bother with a spare.”
She blinks at me, probably trying to decide whether or not I’m serious, which I am.
Picking up a fry, she swirls it in ketchup and uses it to point at my list before she pops it in her mouth. “What else you got on there?”
“Have you ever been arrested?”
“Nope. You?”
“Um…” I press my lips together. “Yes. But you don’t need the details.”
“Murder?”
“No.”
“Rape?” She narrows her eyes.
“God no!” I rear back, offended. “Never.”
“Just tell me, then. Otherwise, I’m going to keep imagining terrible scenarios.”