Page 53 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“Sure.” I waved my fork in a little circle on the air. “I should qualify that I don’t know when I’ll get my next good meal.”
I glanced at him from beneath my lashes. He didn’t look entirely convinced. He was still considering me like I was some strange specimen.
“A doctor, huh?” I asked, happy to change the subject. “What kind?”
“Reconstructive surgery.”
“Plastic surgery?” I almost snorted. Like there wasn’t enough of those already. Figures that a beautiful guy like him would go into the business of chin implants and breast augmentation.
“No, as in correcting birth defects. Helping trauma victims.”
And now I felt like an ass.
“What about you?”
“Something that pays well. Hopefully enough so that I can pay back my student loans in my lifetime – I’m sure I’ll finish college with a load of debt.” I shrugged self-consciously.” And something to help out my family. I don’t want to flip burgers forever.” Or take off my clothes for money. I thought it but didn’t say it. I didn’t need to. He knew.
“Have you applied for any grants?”
“What are those?”
“There are grants for students that meet certain criteria. All kinds of them. You can look them up online. I’m sure you would qualify for some.”
“And they just give that money free and clear?”
“Yes. To put toward school. Didn’t your high school counselor tell you about them?”
“My high school counselor wasn’t interested in giving me college counseling.” The woman had made up her mind about me when my sister dropped out senior year to dance full-time. I think I surprised her by even sticking it out and graduating.
“You should look into it,” he said.
I nodded, feeling kind of dumb. Like I should have known this.
“So you’re graduating then? In May?” I needed to hear him say he was leaving.
“Yeah.”
“And then you’re gone?”
“I’ve got an internship at Memorial Hospital through the summer. Working in the burn ward. I start med school in Boston in the fall.”
Boston wasn’t that far. I blasted the thought from my head. It didn’t matter where he went to med school.
“Can I get you anything else?”
I snapped my attention to the waitress. She wasn’t looking at me. Hunter held her undivided attention. She was in her twenties. Her eyes bright and alert despite working the night shift. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear and cocked her head, a flirty grin curving her lips. And I knew he got this all the time. Girls with invitation all over their faces. Suddenly I felt uncomfortable sitting there in my jeans and plaid, button-snap shirt. I didn’t belong here.
“Yeah. We’re done,” I announced, pushing my plate back. Only a few scraps remained.
She blinked at me, and I realized my tone wasn’t the friendliest. A smile played on Hunter’s mouth. God help me if that didn’t just make his dimple deeper.
Hunter paid the bill and we left, stepping out into the cold night. We crossed the street and I turned toward my car. He walked beside me, his arm brushing my shoulder. I was almost to my car door when his voice rippled over me. “You want to come inside?”
I laughed lightly. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
The words were harsh, but I needed them to be. Not just for him, but for me, too. I needed to remember who he was and who I was. We weren’t two people out on a date. This wasn’t going anywhere. Unless I wanted to be another notch on his bedpost—a story for him to share with his buddies . . . how he took home a stripper and screwed her.
“Damn it, Brooke. You won’t give me your number. You won’t come inside. Maybe I just want to get to know you. Maybe I don’t want to say good-bye right now.”
