Not So Loved (West Coast Campus Series Book 2)

Chapter 18

Rhys-age 16

"I want to take you to dinner. Tonight. At Rocko's Diner. The one down the street?"

Holy shit, I'm sweating balls. My hands wring nervously in front of me as I look anywhere but Maeve.

"You want to take me to dinner? But we always go to dinner together." She points out.

I fucking blush. "Ahh, well, I wanted to take you out. Like an a...date."

Her eyes blow up, her mouth forming an O. She blinks at me like she can't believe what's coming out of my mouth before she snaps it shut, nodding her head slowly.

"You're so cute, Rhys. I love you so much for it."

"Is that a yes?"

She grins and my breath leaves my lungs.

"Of fucking course. You think I'd let you take out some other girl? Hell no. You're stuck with me forever, Beckett."

And I can't wait for when we finally get that forever we always talk about.

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Rhys - present

"Did he seriously bail on us so he wouldn't have to pay the check?" Mike scoffs, bringing his phone to his ear before tapping the speaker.

"You've reached Cam. I'm currently sucking Mikes dick or trying to get into Noah's pants so I'll come to the phone when I can."

I burst out laughing at hearing Cam's lovely voice.

Mike gapes at his phone as we stand outside a bar and grill, waiting for our Uber to come rescue us.

Cam was our ride before he bailed on us, presumabley so he didnt have to pay.

Smart 'lil fucker.

"Is that seriously his voicemail?" Mike asks, amusment all over his face.

I shrug because what else is there to do?

"Sounds like something Cam would do. I'm kinda offended he doesn't want to suck my dick, though."

Mike pouts sarcastically at me, his eyes eyebrows drooping. "Aww, is someone jealous? Don't worry, he gives terrible head."

I sputter. "What?"

He better be fucking joking.

Mike glances across the street at some commotion, shielding his eyes from the sun as he takes a long glance, puzzled.

He squints before his eyes completely widen with shock. "Isn't that Maeve's car?"

I follow his eyes to the Toyota that sits planted outside of Fosters Diner, burgundy paint chipped away all along the bumper, the windsheild cracked and splintered.

Holy fucking shit.

That's Maeve's diner.

She's told me just bit and pieces about the diner she owns and manages, never wanting to be pushed on the subject, so I left it.

But holy shit.

It has a contempory feel to it, blue and white painting the outside, Fosters Diner displayed in big sloppy letters right above the entrance, like a certain six year old wrote those letters himself and Maeve had them blown up.

From across the street, I can see people hurrying up the steps like they can't wait to get inside and people leaving with happy and content smiles on their faces, a few rubbing their bursting stomachs.