The bastard hands her both burgers, and I take the opportunity to shoot him a death glare, hoping he wets his pants a little.
I tail the blonde to the cash resisters, pilfering a banana, two protein bars, another bag of chips, and a rice krispy treat from a nearby snack rack as we pass it by.
“Come on, just give me one of the burgers.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Some of us really do need to learn the hard way,” she says to no one in particular, ignoring me completely.
“You’re not going to eat both of those.”
This time she does acknowledge me. “So? They’re mine—I can do whatever I want with them.”
“You ain’t gonna waste them. You’re not the type.”
“Thanks for stereotyping me as not a waster.”
I roll my eyes. She is as prickly as a cactus and twice as pretty as one in bloom—which is the weirdest metaphor I’ve ever thrown out, but there you go.
“That was a compliment.”
She shoots me a look over her shoulder and keeps walking. “Are you still following me?”
“Yeah—I’m still starvin’.”
The little shit rolls her eyes and throws a thumb toward the buffet. “Get in line like the rest of the general population.”
“Gimme one of them burgers. Please.”
She stops in her tracks at that, spinning on her heel to face me, and it’s then that I get a really good, hard look at her. Wavy blonde hair framing a heart-shaped face. Dark brown eyes, so deep they’re like fresh mud in a cattle field. Freckles dotted across a pert little nose and high cheekbones. Pink skin quickly dented by a small dimple appearing on her right cheek.
Well fuck me sideways and color me surprised. This little spitfire is full of gumption and prettier than a peach.
Beautiful, especially now that she’s good and riled up.
“You can have the burger for ten bucks.”
“Say again?” I can’t have heard her right.
“I said—give me ten dollars and the sandwich is yours.” It stays clutched in her grip; she makes no move to hand it over.
It’s getting colder by the second, and nothing gets me grumpier than cold food.
“That’s extortion.” I’m fucking starving and she damn well knows it!
“No,” she smugly informs me. “That’s supply and demand. You would know that if you attended classes.”
“I attend my classes.” Just like everyone else.
“Oh yeah, which ones?” The brows above her dark eyes rise. “How to be a Jock 101?”
They have a class called How to be a Jock? Weird. “I’m an ag major—we don’t have classes like that.”
“What’s an egg major?”
“Ag—as in agriculture.”
A snicker bubbles out of her throat; she sure is a snotty little thing, something I don’t appreciate.
I reach for a hamburger.
She pulls it back, out of my reach. “Ten bucks.”
“Five.”
“Eight.”
“You haven’t even paid for these yet,” I remind her.
“How about you pay for all of it and let me keep these two?”
“How about I pay for all of it and you give those both to me?” I nod toward the burgers.
“I haven’t eaten yet, you animal, and you’ve already had a chicken sandwich—my chicken sandwich.”
Dammit, that’s right—she hasn’t eaten yet. I’d be a real asshole if I didn’t at least buy her lunch.
“Fine. Give them here.”
“Nope. Not until you’ve paid.”
“Fine,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “But I get one of those.”
“A deal is a deal. I said I’d give you one and I will—after you pay for everything.”
Together, we make our way to the cashier, and just like before, I skip to the front of the line.
No one objects.
Except her.
“You cannot keep doing that.”
“Doing what?” I feign ignorance, head held high as I hand the cashier all my shit, including the empty wrappers, and point to the two burgers in Little Miss Priss’s hands. “Those too.”
Charlie
This guy is the most ridiculous creature I’ve ever met. Stubborn. Rude. Barbaric.
Handsome—if you’re into crude and uncultured.
And the Southern accent…it’s cute—and he’s so very good-looking. Obviously corn-fed; a down-home, bona fide country boy.
A hick?
So country I can’t resist giving him shit about it, and it actually makes my stomach churn a little. I’ve met people from the South, but never with an accent this deep and never this pronounced.
The twang is thick, and I love it.
I hate him.
Clearly he hasn’t been taught any manners, and if he has, he chooses not to use them. Or he simply doesn’t care. I thought boys from the south were supposed to be all yes ma’am and no ma’am and gentlemen?
Doesn’t give a fig. I chuckle to myself at my own use of the Southern metaphor.
I stand idly beside him, holding the two burgers I snatched from the griddle.
A guilty wave passes over me at my manners, which were as bad as…his. Shoot. He made me completely forget myself, and I’m ashamed I grabbed both burgers without caring who they belonged to, so hell-bent on proving a point.
Ugh.
The Neanderthal retrieves a wallet from his back pocket, pulling out cash instead of a student ID.