Page 15 of Win You Over

Holden

“ H ave you eaten?” Remington asks as soon as I slide into his passenger seat. “Mom is cooking dinner, but that’s hours away.” My stomach grumbles in answer, having not eaten anything all day.

Remington smiles, then turns back to the wheel and starts the engine. “I know the perfect place.”

We drive for about fifteen minutes, heading to the outskirts of town and into a leafy residential area with modestly sized houses with rolling green lawns.

He takes some turns before bringing us to a stop outside a nondescript-looking diner.

The D of the neon light above the door is broken, the name now reading Mandy’s iner.

There’s a tremble of trepidation in my chest, a rumbling of nerves about venturing into a new place. I do my best to ignore it, leaning forward to take a good look at the place through the windscreen.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Remington remarks, throwing his door open and climbing out.

I follow suit, walking behind him into the diner.

A bell sounds when we walk in, the door rattling shut behind us.

It smells as you would expect it to smell – like grease and fried meat, but with a hint of syrupy sweetness.

“Remington!” an older lady with a graying bob shouts, coming over to hug the man next to me. “You haven’t been by in ages. Thought you’d forgotten about us.”

“Never!” Remington quips. He turns to me. “Mandy, this is my new friend, Holden.” I don’t miss the emphasis he puts on the word. This boy is a dog with a bone sometimes.

“Nice to meet you, Holden,” Mandy says, giving me a wave of her hand. “Same as always, Rem?”

“Times two, please,” he answers, but then turns to me. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

My heart pounds and words burn at the back of my throat with the need to tell him that no, I’m not, but that I also doubt I have enough cash on me to cover whatever his ‘usual’ is.

But it’s a fruitless task trying to talk in a diner filled with people.

So instead, I shake my head and hope to God my bank account has enough in it to cover this meal.

“Great, I’ll bring that right over. You two find a seat.” Mandy saunters away, picking up used plates from two tables as she steps behind the counter and into the area I presume is the kitchen.

Looking around, I take in the sixties decor.

The red and white booths, walls covered in portraits of movie stars and singers.

There’s maybe three open tables, the rest occupied by couples and groups in various stages of eating their lunch.

Tall glasses of milkshakes, piled high with cream and sprinkles, sit in front of two children, so small that the top of the cream meets the top of their wide eyes.

Fuck, I hope our order includes one of those.

Remington leads us over to a table at the window, and I slide into the booth opposite him. He empties the pockets of his jeans as he sits down, placing his keys, wallet, and phone to one side before setting a pad of orange notes and a pen in front of me.

The gesture – the fact that he came prepared – does something to my heart and sends a dangerous crack through the walls I’ve erected to keep people out. No one, not even Theo, considers me to this extent, in mundane moments like having lunch.

How did you find this place? I scribble on the block of paper.

“My mom. She worked here when she was on her backpacking trip before she met my dad. Mandy had only recently opened it and needed the help. Mom and Mandy have stayed friends ever since. You can’t get better milkshakes on this side of the country.

In fact, I’m not sure you can get them better anywhere in the world! ”

I smile at his enthusiasm, experiencing a wave of excitement at sharing this with him.

“How was work?” he asks.

Boring. Uneventful. I write.

“You don’t like your job?”

I don’t hate it. But it’s not my dream to spend my life there. It’s a temporary step while I work out the rest of my life.

Mandy returns to our table, a tray in her hands, piled high with food.

“Two servings of ribs, two servings of chicken wings, curly fries, side salads, and two chocolate milkshakes.” She lays all the food out in front of us and my eyes bulge at the portion sizes.

I survive mostly on fruit, bread and ramen.

I’m not sure my stomach will handle this amount of food. I’m certain my wallet won’t.

“Thanks, Mandy. Add it to my tab.”

“Always, sweet boy,” she says, ruffling Remington’s hair.

I can’t let you pay for all this , I hurriedly scribble.

“Um, yeah, you can. And besides, I don’t pay for it. My dad does.” Remington shrugs, once again showing me that to him, money is no big deal.

I’ll pay you back.

“Sure,” he says dismissively before ripping into the rack of ribs with his hands.

I watch him as he eats the juicy meat, then sucks the bone and his fingers clean.

It’s an eye opening experience watching Remington Langford devour a rack of ribs.

He’s a perfect specimen of a human, and he eats like a wild animal.

He’s finished his rack of ribs before I’ve even started.

“What do you want to do once you’ve graduated?” he asks, taking a noisy slurp of his milkshake. I take a sip of my own, forcing my eyes not to roll in pleasure. It’s chocolatey, rich, indulgent and delicious.

“Good, right? Fucking orgasmic,” he says around the straw in his mouth. “Now tell me, what are your plans when you’re done?”

You’ll laugh.

“Try me.”

I always wanted to teach English. Literature specifically. It’s a ridiculous dream, given I could never stand in front of a classroom and actually speak.

“It’s always good to have a dream,” he muses.

Just being able to study here is a dream come true.

I don’t think you or your friends realise how privileged you are that coming to this university wasn’t something you had to fight for.

I got lucky with my scholarship. And maybe I will never teach.

Maybe I will write, or go into journalism or publishing.

But I will have accomplished it on my own.

The tirade I went on covers three little squares of paper and Remington reads them as he chews on a curly fry.

“You didn’t get lucky, Holden. It’s no easy feat getting into Warnham. I don’t know your story, but I do know you had to have worked fucking hard to get your scholarship.”

I nod, flushing at the intensity with which he’s looking at me and the awe in his voice.

“You?” I manage to ask, the word tasting like cotton wool on my tongue.

“I’m going into publishing, like my dad.

Take over the family business. Maybe write too.

” He eats another fry. “I was thinking of going into modelling.” He waves a hand up and down his torso.

“Seems a shame to hide all of this from the world.” He smirks, and I don’t resist the urge to roll my eyes this time.

The world will be fine without it, I promise.

“Will it though?” He smiles, dimples popping as his eyes sparkle.

I sink into the red leather seat, taking him in, while making my way through as much of the meal as I can.

I wait for the unease to wash over me – the same way it often does around people.

But it never comes, and I realise the last time I felt this comfortable around someone was when I first let Theo behind my reinforced walls.

It’s becoming impossible to keep Remington from behind them, too.

Much like my best friend, he’s genuine in his treatment of people.

He’s loyal and radiates empathy and warmth in a way I haven’t felt from many others before.

Of all the people in the world to make me feel like I could trust someone again, it had to go and be the smuggest asshole of them all. Remington Fucking Langford.

Double checking I’ve attached the file, I read through the body of the email and then give Remington a look.

He comes closer and leans over my shoulder, chewing on Sour Patch Kids as he reads the text.

We’ve been working for the past two hours and have finally finished our assignment.

Sources cited, proofreading completed, presentation clean and professional.

“Looks good,” he says. “Send it.”

I hit send, then lean back in the chair, relieved that our assignment is finished and submitted. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as I had expected. Everything about Remington is not as bad as I had expected, and if I were to be the bigger person, I could admit that I may have judged him too harshly.

Despite admitting to myself in the diner that I enjoy being around him, I still think that calling Remington a friend comes with far too many complications.

The biggest being how I would fit in with the rest of his group.

I don’t think any of them would welcome me with smiles on their faces, especially not Finn.

I told myself I would never put myself in that position again. I’m okay being a loner. I’m okay with only having Theo in my life. Theo is safe. I trust him not to hurt me. The same cannot be said for the people Remington hangs around with.

I’m closing my laptop and sliding it into my bag when Remington touches my arm.

“Come on.” He tips his head towards the door. “Work is over. Now let’s have some fun.”

When I don’t immediately stand, he leans forward and rests a hand on each arm of the chair, bringing his face within inches of mine.

This close, I can see the dark blue ring around his irises and the tiny scattering of nearly invisible freckles over the bridge of his nose.

His breath smells like grapes and I find myself wondering what his lips taste like.

Would they be sweet? Maybe a little sour from the candy?

It’s not a thought I’ve had about a guy before and it takes root, snowballing into an urge to lean forward and find out.

Heat blooms up my neck and into my cheeks and his eyes snap downward, his lips curving into a devilish grin.