Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption (Road to Redemption #1)(70)

“Uh.” She checks the time on her wrist. “Yeah, why not? I have to talk to you anyway.”

That’s right. “Ditto. Let’s go.”

“Where to?”

“Follow me; I know a place.”

“Why am I not surprised by that?”

“Because I’m f*cking awesome?”

“Ha.”

I back away toward the door, and she turns to go back to her Honda. The way her ass sways in that outfit combined with the fact that she knows her way around the Chevelle is enough to convince me, screw Walker. He can wait.





X X X


I take Green to a buffet-style breakfast place Nick and I found years ago. Once upon a time, we used to meet up and chat every so often. Of course, that was before the academy was just a bad memory, and I became another disappointment my father couldn’t stop f*cking harping on.

Good times.

I still like the food, though. So every once in a while, I make time to go grab a bite.

This seems like a good time to me.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Green looks like the cat that just swallowed the canary, I’d be a little more psyched about the whole thing. As it is, she’s making my head spin, the way she can’t stop jiggling her keys and f*cking with her hair.

Instead of forcing a conversation out of her, I wait quietly. ’Cause I’m a patient motherf*cker when I need to be. I let her decide when she’s gonna spill.

Whatever it is.

We’re seated after about a ten-minute wait.

Still nothing.

Our menus are laid out on the table after we’re lead to a quiet corner. Green studies it, but she’s not really f*cking reading it, if you know what I mean.

She still hasn’t stopped f*cking with her keys.

I put a hand on top of hers to stop the jitteriness.

When she looks at me, I know it’s time.

“So listen, Stiles, I─”

“Hey there, Jackson.” Queue the damn server, of course. Worst timing ever.

Sheila’s great and all, been here forever, but f*ck me.

I could tell her we need a minute, but honest to God, starving here. So I hold my arms out about a foot apart. “Can we get two of those big ass breakfast specials with extra bacon and─”

“No bacon for me.” Green’s still searching but not searching the menu, despite the fact Sheila’s about to bring her the best f*cking breakfast she’s ever had.

“Green, every red-blooded American likes bacon.”

“Not this one.” She points to herself.

“How do you not like bacon?”

She lowers the flimsy piece of laminated cardboard and eyes me. “Do you know which part of the pig bacon comes from, Stiles?”

I peek up at Sheila. The side of her mouth is rising into a hesitant smile. It makes her look about ten years younger and like there’s a whole lot more to her than taking orders and schlepping food.

Back to Green, though. “Seriously? Have your fill of pork fried rice which may or may not actually be pork at all, but bacon? That’s where you draw the line?”

She huffs and the frustration she’s been harboring is set free.

“Whatever, I mean, yeah, no, go ahead.” She smiles the fake smile up at Sheila. “Whatever he ordered is fine.”

“What’s up with you?” I can’t take it anymore. Edgy Green is making my teeth hurt.

“People really like you,” she says with a frown.

“That’s disappointing? I’m likeable.” Green’s eyebrow disagrees. So I adjust my statement. “Sometimes.” I wink but she doesn’t smile back.

The back of my neck itches. She’s too serious this morning.

The urge to say something is apparent on her lips, only she’s not saying whatever the f*ck it is that’s trying to get out.

Time to hit the reset button.

“How about I go grab us a couple coffees.” I reach for her cup. “Be right back.” But she stops me and grabs it herself.

“I’ll get ’em.” Her voice is pitchy. Nervous. Very non-Green when it’s just the two of us, if you ask me.

“Okay.” I sit back down, and she hurries off, knocking her purse off the back of her chair. I go to pick it up for her, and her phone slides out onto the floor. When I grab it, the screen lights up. There, right in front of my f*cking face, is a text she must have just gotten or not seen yet.

Listen, I don’t read people’s texts. It’s not my style, but when I happen to see my name pop up like it did on her phone? Yeah, I’m gonna check that shit out.

I glance over at the coffee set-up and watch Green fumble with the cups before she figures out how it all works. I tap the screen of her phone and read the preview.

Need some Stiles intel. Contact me ASAP.

I set the phone down and think.

The f*ck?

Stiles intel?

Like, f*cking intel? On me?

The number is local but I don’t recognize it, which bugs the living hell out of me. If someone’s asking for intel, she must have already known they were looking for it. I don’t know who the f*ck she’s expecting to want intel on me.

I scratch my eyebrow.

I rub the back of my neck.

I wipe imaginary sweat from my face.