Your Picture On My Phone (The Scar Series - Book One)

2 - Conor

"I didn't book a direct flight, as my Dad made me pay for this trip myself. And this was the cheapest option."

The smell of burgers hovering over the white square table Conor and I sat at made my mouth water. The diner Conor dragged me to for our unplanned reunion had an old-fashioned appearance. As if it was built to attract European tourists, even though I doubt that any of them even fly here. Conor folded his hands, piercing me with his eyes. "So, your rich star-architect dad makes you go to work to pay for stuff yourself?" He raised his brows at me in disbelief.

"He said I had to learn what earning stuff is like."

Connor couldn't hold himself back anymore and burst out laughing.

"Why is that so funny?" I asked, feeling my blood pressure rising again, but Conor just shook his head and was all smiles as if he thought I deserved to be taught a lesson.

"I can't imagine you... having a job. Sorry. The mighty quarterback who always lets people know who is king, working in a donut store."

I huffed even though anger was futile. After what happened between us, I couldn't blame him. He was just using this opportunity to entertain himself.

"Maybe you are a normal human being, after all."

What else would I be?

I picked up the sticky menu and read through the different burgers, sandwiches, and all-day-breakfast variations. A waiter hardly older than us walked up to our table, straightening his short black hair one more time before putting on a fake smile.

"Good evening, gentleman. I'm Joshua, and I will be your server tonight. How are we today?"

As if you cared.

A brown stain on his company clothes, right on his chest, was barely covered by his name tag.

"Yeah, yeah. We're good," I replied hastily, to get by with the social conventions everybody else seems to like so much.

"You guys also stuck here due to the storm?"

"Unfortunately—"

"Can we skip the shenanigans and just order?" I interrupted Conor before he could engage further in that useless conversation.

"Oh my, someone is hungry, huh?" Waiter Guy turned to Conor, completely ignoring my angry stare. They glanced at each other as if I was the one wasting everybody's time. Ugh, I hate small talk.

"I'll take the house burger with fries and a Coke," I barked at Josh-something, throwing the menu toward his side of the table. He tried to catch the laminated letter-sized paper but missed and instead slammed it onto the ground, almost knocking over the table.

Terrible reflexes, just like I thought. I threw my arms on the opposing side and stabilized the table before it overturned so that he wouldn't get hurt by his clumsiness.

"Yeah, I'll have the same." Conor smiled apologetically at the waiter as if he had to reassure him that I wasn't a bad guy.

"Okay. I'll be back with you shortly," he replied and walked away with a face that told me he would ensure to add extra saliva to my drink.

"Still angry at everyone and everything, huh?"

"No?" I countered so hastily that I probably confirmed the opposite answer. I wasn't in the mood to be judged. Conor tapped his feet, following the beat of a song that pretended to be cool ten years ago. Just change the fucking topic, I told myself and took a deep breath.

"What brings you here?" I asked. What a stupid question. Conor clenched his eyebrows, possibly thinking the same as me. But places like this diner are made for dull conversation, so I went on with it. "Didn't you move to LA?"