After We Collided (After, #2) by Anna Todd Read Online (FREE)
“It’ll be ten to fifteen minutes before you can be seated,” a short woman with a blue scarf around her neck tells us when we walk inside.
“Okay,” I say at the same time that Hardin says, “Why?”
“We’re busy and there aren’t any tables open at the moment,” she explains sweetly. Hardin rolls his eyes and I pull him away from her to sit at the bench in the entryway.
“It’s nice to see you’re back,” I tease.
“What’s that mean?”
“I just mean you’ve still got your edge.”
“When didn’t I?”
“I don’t know, when we went on our date and a little last night.”
“I trashed that bedroom and cussed you out,” he reminds me.
“I know, I’m trying to make a joke.”
“Well, try making a good one next time,” he says, but I see the glint of a smile appear.
When we’re finally seated, we give our order to a young guy with a beard that seems to be a little too long for someone who’s working as a waiter. After he walks off, Hardin complains and swears that if he finds a hair in his food, he’s going to lose it. “Just had to show you that I still have my edge,” he reminds me, and I giggle.
I love that he’s trying to be a little nicer, but I also love his attitude and the way he doesn’t care what people think of him. I wish more of those qualities would rub off on me. He runs through a list of other things that are bothering him about the place until our food arrives.
“Why can’t you just miss the entire day?” Hardin asks as he shovels a forkful of French toast into his mouth.
“Because . . .” I begin. Oh, you know, because I’m transferring to another campus and I don’t want to complicate things by losing any participation points before I transfer in the middle of the semester.
“I don’t want to lose my A’s,” I tell him.
“This is college, no one goes to class,” he tells me for the hundredth time since I met him.
“Aren’t you excited about yoga?” I laugh.
“No. Not at all.”
We finish breakfast, and the mood is still light as Hardin drives toward the campus. His phone vibrates on the console but he ignores it. I want to answer for him but we’re getting along so well. The third time it rings, I finally speak up.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I ask him.
“No, it’ll go to voicemail. It’s probably my mum.” He lifts the phone to show me the screen.
“See, she left a voicemail. Can you check it?” he asks.
My curiosity gets the best of me and I snatch the phone from his hands.
“Speakerphone,” he reminds me.
“You have seven new voicemails,” the robotic voice announces as he parks the car.
He groans. “This is why I never check them.”
I press the numeral one to listen to them. “Hardin? . . . Hardin, it’s Tessa . . . I . . .” I try to press the end button but Hardin grabs the phone from my hand.