Ready or Not (The Love Game Book 4) by Elizabeth Hayley (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗

If he was going to say it was the love of his life calling to get back together with him, well, I could do without that information, thanks very much. Though maybe having a girlfriend would be a blessing. It would make him less…available, and I could get over this ridiculous crush I had on him.

Wait… Crush? No, not a crush. He was nice and attractive, so of course I was drawn to him. As a person. Not anything…more.

Clearly oblivious to my inner freak-out, he turned fully toward me. “It was my mom. Well, my bio mom. It’s a long story. I mean, it’s not a secret, but you probably don’t want to hear it.”

He pulled my door open, but I didn’t get in right away. Instead, I studied him for a moment, trying to figure out what he wanted? Did he want someone to talk to? Did I want to be that someone?

Staring at him was awkward, so I slid into my seat, and he closed my door. As he walked around the truck, I wondered what the best thing to do was. Learning more about Ransom, opening us up to knowing each other better, was a bad idea for so many reasons. It was better to keep the wall between us that I’d erected. We were acquaintances. Tangential friends. We didn’t need to be anything more.

He climbed in behind the wheel and started his truck.

I chanced a look at him.

He gripped the wheel tightly, his jaw hard-set.

“Maybe you could tell me about it over dinner?” Why do I even have an inner monologue if I’m never going to listen to it?

His eyes flew to mine, and he looked…surprised. Surprised but also pleased.

“Yeah. That would be great.”

Great was definitely one word for it.

Chapter Twelve

R A N S O M

“How do you feel about diner food?” I asked Taylor.

Neither of us had spoken in the few minutes that had passed since she’d agreed to go to dinner. I was almost afraid to speak—worried I’d say something stupid to remind her why she’d declined in the first place. But prolonged silence made me antsy, and no matter how many times I told myself to stay chill, I always rushed to fill it.

I saw her glance over at me in my periphery. “I don’t really feel anything about it one way or the other. Isn’t that kind of the point of diner food? To be…inconspicuous?”

I wrinkled my brow as I processed her words. “That seems like a bad marketing strategy.”

“How much marketing do you see for diners? No TV ads, no billboards. They’re just…there. Like crabs without the anxiety.”

I couldn’t resist facing her in my horror. “Was your goal to ruin diners for me?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say a goal as much as a pleasant byproduct.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Eh, I’ve been called worse.”

I turned into a parking lot, pulled into an empty spot, and killed the engine. “Well, your punishment is to eat at the Greasy Spoon.”

She bent her head so she could look up at the brick building with faded canopies over the windows. “Oh God, that’s the name and not just a description.” She turned toward me. “I’m going to get food poisoning and die, aren’t I?”

I nodded solemnly. “After the crabs comment, this is just the way it has to be.”

She sighed heavily before throwing her door open. “That’s fair.”

We walked up the stone steps side by side and our hands brushed, causing her to mutter a “sorry.”

I wished, not for the first time, we’d met at a different time under different circumstances. Circumstances that could’ve led to me gripping her hand and twining her fingers in mine.

When we got inside, I stepped ahead of her to approach the hostess station.

“Hi. Just two?” the young girl at the station asked.

“Yes.”

“Right this way,” she said before grabbing menus the size of a poster and leading us toward a table. As we sat, she handed us the menus and said, “Helen will be right with you.”

Taylor looked around before turning her eyes on me. “This wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. Either it goes or I do.”

I spun my head around quickly to take in the wallpaper. It was a floral pattern that had yellowed with age and was peeling in places, but it didn’t seem that offensive. “That’s…an odd comment.”

She laughed. “Those were Oscar Wilde’s last words. Seemed appropriate.”

“And you just happen to know his last words because…”

She shifted a bit in her seat, and if I didn’t know her better, I’d say she was embarrassed. “I have a bit of an obsession with people’s last words.” A blush creeped up her neck and highlighted her cheeks.

Definitely embarrassed. And because I was who I was, I couldn’t resist poking fun at her. “Kinda morbid, don’t ya think?”

Her eyes flashed, and it was as if I were watching her don her armor as she prepared for battle. Her shoulders straightened, her jaw hardened, and all motion ceased. It was incredible. Taylor, my little warrior. Well, not mine, unfortunately, but whatever.

“You’re awfully judgmental sometimes,” she accused.

My brow furrowed. “Me? You and Sophia were literally ranking men by their taste in footwear a couple weeks ago.”

She rolled her eyes at me. “So? We didn’t know them. And they couldn’t hear us. It was harmless.”

I cocked my head. “So knowing someone makes a difference?”

“Yes. Because when you know someone, you’re making a judgment based on what you’ve learned. The attack is personal, not objective.”

“Hmm, interesting. Okay, so tell me this…”

She looked at me expectantly.

I smiled. “What if I was just giving you shit and don’t really think it’s morbid? Is it still personal?”

“No, then it’s just really freaking annoying.”

“Ah, good. Glad that’s settled, then.” I leaned back into my seat and opened my menu. I didn’t even know why I bothered to look. I always got the same thing at diners.

After setting my menu back down, I looked up to see an older woman—probably in her sixties—approaching. She had