“Feeling a little better?”
She huffs then bites her bottom lip. “I’m not a great drinker.”
“I noticed.”
“Two coffees,” Cindy says, sliding the mugs on the table. “Any cream?”
“Yes, please,” Savvy says.
Cindy scoops a handful of individual creamers from her apron and dumps them on the table between our mugs before turning her full attention on Savvy. “We don’t have a cook back there this time of night, so we’re on a limited menu while I pull double duty, but I’ll whip up some pancakes for a friend of Oliver.”
“That’s so sweet,” Savvy says, “but you don’t have to.”
“Pancakes sound great, Cindy,” I say. Savvy might be on her way to sobriety, but she should eat something if she wants a better chance at not hating life in the morning.
“Got it.” Cindy studies Savvy for a beat, smiling. “Well, you’re certainly pretty enough to explain the sudden change in his behavior.”
Savvy’s brow wrinkles. “I’m sorry?”
“I usually come here alone,” I say before Cindy can launch into her favorite speech about how I need a “good girl” in my life.
“We’re just friends,” Savvy offers.
“Mm-hmm,” Cindy says before walking away.
I bite back a smile.
Savvy snatches a creamer off the table and dumps it into her coffee. “Are you laughing at me?”
“What? I would never. I’m glad to know I’ve made a new friend.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “I said something to you, didn’t I? Something incriminating?”
“Not unless being the sex-deprived girlfriend of an asshole and wanting me to help make him think you cheated on him would be considered incriminating.”
She drags a hand over her face. “Why do people like getting drunk? I enjoy drinking, don’t get me wrong, but drunk is just stupid.”
I nod. “Usually.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry about earlier. Your girlfriend probably—”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
She arches a brow. “Right. What a stud. Am I supposed to be impressed that you can get head anywhere you go?”
I cough out a laugh. “I didn’t say that, but I’m flattered that you think so.”
She scrapes her gaze down my chest and slowly back up to my face. My shirt is buttoned now, but it’s all too easy to remember how she looked at me when it wasn’t. “Yeah, well, I’m drunk, not blind.”
Not completely sober, then. Or maybe she’s always this forward.
“Does your boyfriend know you talk about your sex life with complete strangers?”
She wrinkles her nose, and—Christ. I can handle the tight jeans and great ass. But she’s not just hot. She’s cute. I never realized the combination was my kryptonite.
“I would worry about that, but since there are no details to share . . .” She shrugs.
“You should talk to him about that. Communication is important.” Honestly, though? I’m not sure Chuck Kruger knows how to communicate without his fists.
She shakes her head. “It’s so dumb, but I’m not supposed to complain about his tactics because I don’t know what it’s like to be a dude.” She says the last part in a mocking, low, dude-bro voice.
“Well, I happen to know a little bit about it if you want to bounce anything off me.”
Sighing, she stares into her coffee and shakes her head. “Nah. I’ve said too much already.”
“Ah, so it was the booze making you overshare.”
She lifts her gaze to meet mine for a beat before dropping it back to her coffee and shrugging.
“Okay, let me guess, then. He believes he’s more powerful and aggressive going into a fight if he deprives himself of sex and orgasms beforehand?”
She wrinkles her nose again. “So this is a normal thing?”
I bark out a laugh and lean back in the booth. “I don’t know if I’d call it normal, but I’ve definitely heard of it before.” I’ve heard of it a lot among fighters, but I’ve never been a believer myself. Chuck’s probably feeling cocky as hell if his girlfriend is bent out of shape over a few days without sex. “But I’m sorry you’re, er, suffering. For what it’s worth.”
She sips her coffee and scans the diner. The place was built in the ‘80s and is pretty run-down. I’m pretty sure the booths are original, and the linoleum floors have seen better days, but it’s clean and—most importantly—open during hours when nothing else decent on this godforsaken campus is.
Savvy’s avoiding my gaze, and I take advantage of the opportunity to look at her. I admire the smooth skin of her neck and the freckles on her bare shoulders. This girl definitely does it for me, and that’s a problem. Despite our unconventional meeting, I would put money on her being a relationship kind of girl, and I’m not a relationship kind of guy. There are some mistakes you only make once.
“Here ya go,” Cindy says, sliding two plates stacked with pancakes onto the table. She plops a bottle of syrup between them. “Anything else?”
Savvy blinks at the food as if she forgot why she was here. “No. Thank you.”
“Thanks, Cindy,” I say, nodding at her before she turns away.
Savvy and I both dig into our food, but after a couple bites she sets her fork down, licks her perfect pink lips, and pushes her plate away.
“You don’t like them?” I ask.
She screws up her face. “I love them. They’re delicious. But they’re all carbs, and . . .”
I arch a brow, waiting, and when she doesn’t finish her sentence, I jokingly say, “And you’re trying to make weight for your fight?”
She rolls her eyes, pink blossoming into her cheeks. “I probably had enough carbs with the booze tonight.” She shudders slightly and meets my gaze. “Ever drink a mix of SunnyD and 99 Bananas?”
I feel myself blanch. “Why would anyone ever do that?”
She laughs. “It was tasty, but . . .” She shakes her head. “Schnapps are always a bad idea. They hit different, and not in a good way.”
I tap the end of my fork handle to her plate. “You should eat. Carbs be damned.”
“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’ll have to snuggle up to my fluffy ass when they catch up with me.”
I’m pretty sure she’s parroting Chuck’s words there, and the realization makes rage simmer in my blood. That sonofabitch doesn’t deserve shit, let alone a beautiful woman like this. “Yeah, unfortunately for me, I’m not,” I say before I can think better of it.
She straightens and holds my gaze for a long time. The silence stretches between us, and I can almost feel the weight of her unhappiness bearing down on it.
“Why are you with him?” There are a dozen questions I have no business asking, and that one’s at the top of the list. I’m not sorry for putting it out there, though.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Lie. She knows exactly what I mean, but she’s embarrassed now and doesn’t want to share. I put down my fork. “You’re gorgeous, Savvy, and from what I can tell, you have a great sense of humor. You’re obviously unhappy. Why stay with an ass who makes you feel like shit? Why stay with a guy who makes you not want to go home at night?”