Until Now (Not Yet #2) (2 page)

I turned my attention back to our table, but not before she caught me staring at her.
Be cool, asswipe.
Jesus, was I in elementary school? I grabbed the last slice of pizza and watched Jon inhale the rest of the food on the table.

Jon wiped his face and pushed his empty plates to the side. “How’s Daisy?”

Immediate pressure filled my head, and I cracked my neck to release it. “Why the fuck are you asking me about my sister?”

Jon glared at me. “Get a grip. She’s a seventeen-year-old kid. I’m not hitting on her.” He leaned back in the booth. “Last time we were home she told me about some girls giving her a hard time in school.”

“What? Why did she tell
you
this?” I tightened my jaw. My sisters and brothers—all five of the fuckers—meant the world to me. I didn’t say stupid shit like that to them, but they knew it. We had each other’s back.

Jon held up his hands, palms facing me. “Settle. She tried to. You were sucking face with some chick. I handled it—”

“Hey there, hottie,” a voice from beside us interrupted Jon.

I smiled before I even turned my head. “Hey yourself, Tues—Marissa.” Christ that was close. When I had a semiregular rotation of girls that I saw, I referred to them by the day of the week we hooked up. Classy? Not a bit. Practical? As fuck.

My Tuesday-night hookup leaned over the table, her low-cut top showing off a shit-ton of cleavage.

“Wanna stop by my place tonight?” She spoke loudly, not trying to hide her words. I liked Marissa—she asked for exactly what she wanted.

“Maybe, darlin’. I haven’t decided on my plans just yet.” I reached up and tugged on a strand of her hair, and she laughed, giving me her best come-hither look.

“Excuse me.”

I looked over Marissa’s shoulder at our waitress. She placed our check on the table, and Jon held up one finger.

“Hold on one second. I’ll give you my card.” Jon reached back, digging in his jeans for his wallet.

Marissa stood up. Standing next to our waitress, she didn’t look quite as cute as I remembered.
Her boobs fuckin’ rock, but other than that…

“Hey, I know you.” Marissa chomped on her gum. “We have a psychology class together. You’re always sitting in the front, taking notes.” Marissa twirled the strand of hair I had tugged around her finger.

Our waitress stared at her for a second more than was comfortable. This chick did not care if she was rude. It was kind of refreshing.

“Right. Isn’t that the point of class? To take notes?” the waitress asked Marissa.

Marissa wrinkled her nose. “Why? Can’t you just listen?”

The waitress shrugged. “I don’t have hyperthymesia. I guess you do.”

Marissa’s entire face scrunched up. No. She was definitely no longer cute. “Hyper what?”

The waitress widened her big green eyes. “I’m shocked. Hyperthymesia is the ability to remember every detail of your life. Professor White discussed it on Friday in class. You’re welcome to borrow my notes if you’d like.”

Marissa snorted and rolled her eyes at the waitress. “See you soon, Dean.” She forced a smile in my direction before she stomped out the door.

Jon chuckled and handed our waitress his credit card. “You handled her. I’ve never seen Marissa back down to any girl before.”

“I’m not any girl who cares about stuff like that I guess,” she said and then looked down at the card. “I’ll run this for you right now.”

I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face if I tried. The uptight princess was smart. And funny in a nerdy way. Marissa was one of IU’s most popular cheerleaders. Like Jon said, I’d never met a girl who wasn’t intimidated by her.

When she came back with the receipt, I placed my hand on her elbow. “I’m gonna need your name and number, darlin’.”

I watched her hand Jon the receipt, wait for him to sign it, and purposefully ignore me. She took the signed receipt back from him, and I grinned up at her. “Well? You want to text it to me?” I asked, holding up my phone.

She tapped her finger on her chin. “Why don’t I stick with my note-taking and table clearing, and you stick with football and… Marissa. That makes a lot more sense, don’t you think?” She winked and walked off, her hips swaying in an infuriatingly sexy way.

Well, damn. There’s a first time for everything, and I think I just got schooled.

Learning the name of an uptight, snarky waitress just became my favorite game to play.

Other than football, of course.

Chapter Two

Grace

WHAT THE HELL? Dean Goldsmith was flirting with me—totally checking me out. How had I even gotten his attention? Sure, I had guys ask me out all the time. Some were persistent, but a cool brush-off and my stiff posture usually made them give up rather fast.

At no time had anyone like Dean hit on me. The guy was a man-whore. Gorgeous, but a player to the core. Stories about Dean’s sexual prowess were legendary on campus. Tall, blond, and blue-eyed, you couldn’t just ignore him and pretend he wasn’t in the room. He commanded attention wherever he went by both his size and his laid-back attitude. He was flirtatious, a party animal, and from what I could tell easygoing. Ha! He and I weren’t even living in the same universe.

“I’m out, Sylvie. I’ll be back tomorrow at two.”

Sylvie turned to me and smiled. At five feet two inches, her petite frame and gray head of hair made some people misjudge her as a softie. Talk to her for a more than a minute, and they’d realize their mistake. Sylvie was direct and snippy to most people, but luckily she had a soft spot for me. My boss owned and managed Maria’s Diner and was the toughest woman I knew. As a single woman who ran a busy diner seven days a week, she had no choice but to be tough. I respected her more than anyone else in my life. Her example was my mantra these days. Hard work pays off.
Stay strong, Grace
.

“Right,” she asked. “You have classes until then?”

I nodded and slung my backpack over my shoulder.

“Don’t run here and don’t leave class early, Grace. You get here when you get here. School’s most important.” Sylvie turned back to her ancient computer where she slowly entered numbers into a spreadsheet. “Oh, and take that bag of food with you, girl.” She motioned to a large brown paper bag.

I peeked inside and felt tears prick the corners of my eyes—bread, fruit, cheese, a jar of chicken noodle soup, and a box of muffins. This was enough food for the rest of the week. “You’re the best.” My voice cracked, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I saw that boy watching you.” Sylvie looked up from her computer. “The footballer.”

“Really?” I cleared my throat. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Sylvie’s eyebrows lifted high on her face. She kindly ignored my lie. “Why don’t you go out with any of them? Boys like that baller ask you out all the time, and you’ve never said yes. Why? Doesn’t need to be a big deal. You could catch a movie. I’d cover for you.”

I twisted the end of my braid around my finger. I almost giggled when she called him a “baller.” With her advanced age and lack of attention to anything modern, Sylvie spoke with an old-fashioned flair and a nod to her deep Southern roots.

“Sylvie, it’s not happening. I’ve been burned before.” I blew out a long breath. “I’m in Bloomington to get my degree. I have no need or desire to get close to a guy. Not now anyway.” I stopped there before I said more than I should. The fact was, if I got close to a guy, I could get hurt by him. I would never allow that to happen again.

I picked up my bag of food. “Men are just a distraction from what really matters. I have to stay focused.”

Sylvie studied me, not saying a word. Her lips were pursed, eyebrows pinched. I watched her expression change when she decided to let it go, and I felt lighter with relief. She turned back to the computer, intent on putting her digits in the spreadsheet she was working on. “Friday’s special is meatloaf. I’ll have a container of that for you to take for dinner.” She didn’t look at me as she typed, but she wasn’t waiting for my response. Sylvie was one of the few people I never argued with. I couldn’t. She only had my best interests at heart.

“Okay.” I glanced at my watch, and my stomach sank. “Gotta go, or I’ll be late.” Sylvie waved me off as I grabbed the bag of food and headed out.

I adjusted my backpack and turned the corner. I would have to run if I was going to make it across campus by five o’clock.

“What’s the rush, princess?” None other than Dean stepped in front of me, blocking my path.

I sighed. I didn’t have time for this shit. “Excuse me.” I sidestepped to the right, and Dean moved with me.

“What’s your name?” He grinned down at me from his tall, lean but muscular frame.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have time to talk. I need to go.” I moved to the left and began walking. Dean turned around and began walking with me.

“Let me buy you a drink to loosen those lips. Maybe then I can learn your name? It must be god-awful if you’re so hesitant to tell me. What is it? Matilda? Francine? My best friend has an aunt named Agnes.” He grimaced and then chuckled. “That it?”

I could tell he was trying to be funny, but I looked away, grinding my teeth. “No time for the drink.” I bit the words out and took a step backward.

Dean’s chiseled face contorted in confusion. “You won’t even meet me at a bar? We can hook up there later if you’re busy now.”

I rolled my head back and looked up at the sky.
Patience, Grace
. “No. I won’t meet you at a bar. Not now, not later, not ever. I don’t hang out at bars.”
And I don’t hang out with guys like you,
I thought. “I have to go.” Dean stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide with shock. I used the opportunity to pass him by and sprint down the street, turning toward campus and slowing my jog when I realized he had given up his pursuit.

***

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER I’d forgotten all about Dean Goldsmith. I concentrated on the reason I was here at IU—school.

My last class of the day was Art History. The elective course was a nice break from the business classes that were required for my major. I walked into Maria’s and waved at Sylvie before heading to the back to change clothes.

Since meeting Sylvie during my freshman year of college when I had come looking for a job, she had arranged my work schedule around my classes. Without this job and her flexibility, I would’ve never been able to stay in school full time.

I clocked in and walked into the dining area, tying my apron strings behind my back. Sylvie motioned to a table, and I responded with a quick nod. Grabbing my pencil and pad of paper, I made my way over.

“Well, hello there.” The hello was long and drawn out. I winced. Dean and his friend were back. His friend was wearing an IU football jacket, and I recognized him by his shaved head and close-cropped beard. Dean looked, as he always did, like a sexy surfer who had just rolled out of bed.

Probably some girl’s bed.

His blond hair was disheveled in a way that made it seem like he didn’t care when I was pretty darn sure he really did. His faded football T-shirt was snug in the arms and chest. God, his arms—I had a thing for arms. I liked them cut but not bulky, and I particularly liked tight, corded forearms. Dean had all that going on and then some.

I noticed cute guys before, but I’d never really been attracted to any. Dean’s looks, personality aside, called to parts of me that had been dormant for years. He was a “take me to bed, no questions asked” kind of good-looking. Good thing I was the queen of questions and the furthest thing from a bed hopper. I squared my shoulders and shook off my lusty thoughts.
Never going to happen, Grace, so erase it from your mind.

I looked over to see his friend watching me, an arrogant smirk on his face. He snickered in Dean’s direction. “What can I get for you guys?” I asked.

“Cheesesteak sub and a coke for me.” Dean’s friend looked down, focusing on his phone, and I relaxed a bit.

Dean looked me up and down. “What’s your favorite thing on the menu?”

I stared back. “Everything here is good.”

“What’s
your
favorite, Red?” His grin was slow to form and hot as hell.

Red
.
How original
. “My favorite thing is the turkey club,” I answered.

“That’s what I’ll have then. Oh, and a sweet tea and your name. What’s your name, Red?”

I looked down. I’d forgotten my name tag again. A small smile slipped onto my face before I could stop it. “Red.” I ducked my face to hide my blush, or more likely red cheeks, as I left to place their orders. I heard Dean’s friend’s loud laughter as I walked away.

As soon as their meals were ready, I delivered them with a smile. No matter how obnoxious the customer, I counted on the tips I made each day. “Can I get you anything else?”

Dean looked up with an impish grin. “Come with me to a friend’s party Saturday night. I promise you’ll have fun.”

“No, thank you.” I waved as Mr. Davidson walked in. He came in every afternoon for coffee and a Danish.

Dean’s friend coughed the word “rejection” into his hand, and I held back my grin. Irritating Dean was kind of fun if I was being honest with myself. Turning down one of the top dogs at IU was amusing. I wasn’t doing it to be mean. I truly had no interest or ability to go to a bar or a party with him.

Dean scowled at his buddy, then looked back up at me. “What’s your deal, Red?” He cocked his head to the side and scratched his chin. “Everybody likes to party.”

“Not me—unless by party you mean study. And I don’t think that’s what you mean at all, now is it?” I grinned cheekily when Dean’s jaw dropped. “Enjoy your lunch, boys.” I headed over to Mr. Davidson and caught Sylvie’s worried glance. I waved her off with a smile. She didn’t need to worry about me. I could handle the Dean Goldsmiths of the world.

Chapter Three

Dean

“DID YOUR MOM send pierogies?” Jon walked into the kitchen of our apartment with a big-ass grin, sniffing the air around him.