Summer Sanders is going through it. The pressures of school are mounting, and her home life is completely falling apart. Feeling bored and lonely on a Saturday night, she decides to get buzzed and surprise her hookup buddy with her best lingerie. Th...
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WHEN WE GET there, Carter parks in the diner's parking lot and makes his way across the street. I watch his figure disappear into the dark of the night, almost hesitant to do the same.
I wasn't exactly at my finest the last time I walked through these doors. My hair was a jumbled mess, I hadn't changed my clothes in 2 days, my eyes were bloodshot with tears, and my voice pathetically quivered as my parents stood by my side and forced me to quit without notice.
The memory is unsavory, but I eventually push it away and make my way in.
Nothing has changed, from the checkered pattern floors, to the white and red vintage booth seats. It feels like I'm walking in to start another shift. A shiver of anxiety runs down my spine at the thought.
The only thing that's changed are my former co-workers. I don't recognize a single person here.
Besides a few weird looks from people who seem to think I've put on a red carpet gown to go to a two star diner, I place my order and get the food without any problems.
Carter is leaning against his car, a similar bagged container hanging on his wrist. When we get in, he turns the car on and shifts to me. "Where do you want to eat?"
"Here is fine, if you don't mind eating in your car." My state of hunger has turned from low aching to full on rumbling, and the quicker I get some food in my stomach, the better the world will be for it.
"It's fine with me." He turns the engine off but leaves the radio on low volume.
We begin digging into our containers, the smell of meat and fried grease permeating the enclosed air. "God, I think you've just put me onto a new order." I moan, after stuffing my face with a big bite.
"You think that's good, wait till you try this." He nudges his burger towards me, and we exchange with each other.
Without much thought, I bring it to my lips and take a decent chunk into my mouth right where his last bite was. I stifle a sound, not wanting him to get the satisfaction of knowing how good I find it.
While I'm enjoying his burger, he's looking down at mines, failing to try it.
Is he a germaphobe or something? I'm getting ready to tell him he can just take a bite on the other side if it bothers him, when he looks up at me.
"You don't have cooties, do you?"
A choked snort escapes my mouth from the unexpectedness of his question. "No, I don't have freaking cooties, Carter Reyes."
"I was just making sure, Summer Sanders." He goes for the middle, intentionally putting his mouth onto the section of my last bite.
God, why am I chuckling like this? It wasn't very funny.
He's laughing with me, both of our mouth's full and dangerously close to spitting out the contents that fill it. His laugh is deep, the kind that makes his eyes squint and chest move up and down rapidly. The kind that makes you laugh along, simply because human nature demands such an intoxicating sound receive accompaniment.
