Grey

Two

[RORY]

"Can we get the nachos? Loaded toppings, please. Extra cheese. Extra sour cream. Extra bacon. Extra jalapeños."

"She gets it, Rory," Cal glared at me from across the table, handing the waitress our menus. I smirked, unable to see her eyes through the sunglasses but knowing they weren't amused. "Thanks."

Once we were left alone, I received an abrupt kick to the shin under the table.

"What? Cheesy, cheesy nachos don't sound good?"

"Stop being a bitch," she groaned, unable to hide the look of disgust on her face. Her hair was a mess, pieces falling out around her face from the messy bun on top of her head. I didn't have to see to know there was leftover mascara staining the skin under her eyes. "I would threaten karma but you're no fun so you're never hungover."

"What did you even do last night?"

I took the wrapper off my straw, mindlessly balling it up and throwing it at Cal's water. I made it, grinning as she rolled her eyes. I sipped my iced tea in silent victory, shrugging as she pulled the soggy paper out and set it aside. "I went to White Noise's album release party."

It was my turn to roll my eyes.

"What? You don't like them?"

"I'm indifferent but people won't shut the fuck up about them," I muttered, shaking my head. "They can't be that good. And the singer is most definitely a walking STD."

"Finn is actually really nice," she defended before snickering under her breath. "He's so hot though, you can't deny it."

"He's fine, I just feel like he's slept with the majority of the female population."

I couldn't lie, I was intrigued by White Noise. I didn't know too much besides the fact that they were a small band from the UK that had seemingly blown up overnight, but they were everywhere. I hadn't heard any of their stuff yet - I did, however, know more than I wanted to about Finn Hastings, the band's stereotypically sexy frontman. He was the very definition of a press prince - a magnet for the cameras and leggy models, creating endless opportunity for clickbait articles. The media and women everywhere loved him, providing the band with the perfect storm to reach mainstream success without actually having to be any good.

"I don't know who he's fucking but it was a great party," Cal nonchalantly responded, looking at her phone.

The habitual gesture reminded me why we were sitting in that particular diner, encouraging me to look at my own phone to check the time. I did my best to hide my annoyance.

"Should we make bets on how late he'll be?"

"We're in no rush, Rory."

"Speak for yourself," I mumbled as the waitress returned with our nachos. She set the plate between us, disappearing as fast as she came before I could even squeeze in a thank you. I took a chip off the top, finding amusement in the wave of nausea that passed over Cal's face as she looked at the mountain of food. "Leave it to dad to pick a place we don't even like and still be insanely late."

I expected her to defend him, but it seemed as though she really was that hungover. As if on cue, she glanced over my shoulder and smiled, abruptly getting out of her seat. The usual chaos around us ensued as the people sitting at nearby tables stared in awe, nudging those next to them and whispering.

I followed suit, awkwardly standing up and watching them hug as the entire restaurant watched on. I'd dealt with it all of my life but it would always make me feel uncomfortable, like we were a zoo exhibit.