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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.