Free The Promise of Amazing by Robin Constantine Page B

challenge of taking a class like Philosophy and grabbing a coffee with Luke before Lit in the morning. I missed crushing our opponents on the lacrosse field, walking down the halls like fucking rock stars. I missed it so much, sometimes my fingers got blistered from pounding away the memories on my drums. It was easier to deal with the physical pain than think about the future I might have had if I hadn’t been caught.
    A young waitress came over, order pad at the ready. Early twenties, I guessed. Her brown hair was piled on top of her head in some crazy do.
    “Why would anyone come to a diner on Thanksgiving?” she asked, handing me a sizable menu with a picture of a milkshake on the front.
    “My family sucks,” I answered.
    Her eyes lit up and she laughed, deep and raspy.
    “Hmm, now that I can understand. What can I get you?”
    “What have you got?”
    “Name it, we got it,” she said, leaning on the counter. Her blouse fell open to reveal the lacy trim of her baby-blue bra. She smelled like patchouli, a hint of cigarette smoke around the edges.
    “I’d like dessert,” I said, holding her gaze.
    Just what I needed. A little harmless flirting to make the world go away.
    “We’ve got cheesecake . . . chocolate mousse . . . pie . . . What do you like?”
    “Surprise me.”
    “A challenge? I’ll take it. Drink?”
    “Coffee, black.”
    “For real? You will be a challenge,” she said, grabbing a cup and saucer and putting them in front of me. “So what’s your name?” she asked as she poured the coffee.
    The familiar buzz of the chase coursed through me.
    “Mike,” I answered.
    “I’m Mia. Mike and Mia, that sounds good, that’s . . . oh crap, what’s that called?”
    “Alliteration,” I said.
    “Yes, that’s it,” she said. “Cute and smart. Bet you’re in from college for Thanksgiving.”
    Compliment and info dig. I was so in.
    “See, I’m less of a challenge than you think.”
    “Let me get that dessert. Stay right where you are. You’re, like, the most entertaining thing that’s happened in this sleepy, little dump all day.”
    Mia kept her eyes on me until she disappeared into the kitchen.
    Luke Dobson would be proud. I could almost hear him say, See how easy it is to get back in the game?
    Is this really what I wanted though? Did I want to wedge my way into a girl’s heart to sniff out if she’d be a good hit? Or just a lovely distraction? Mia fit the second bill nicely. She probably lived paycheck to paycheck, so no bank there. But she was as sexy as hell. Killer rear view.
    Christ, Grayson, stop lining up her stats .
    Mia came back. She placed a large slab of pumpkin pie in front of me, took whipped cream, and, without asking, put a generous spray over the top.
    “How’d you know that was my favorite part?”
    “Lucky guess,” she said, taking her finger and swiping a bitfrom the top. She put it in her mouth. “I can’t believe I just did that! You make me feel a little wicked.”
    The moment was interrupted by the ding of the order-up bell and a loud shout of “Mia!” from the kitchen. She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Be right back, Mike.”
    The pie sat in front of me. If I took a bite . . .
    This wasn’t who I was anymore. It felt wrong to be playing Mia for my own amusement. I couldn’t go backward. I had to stop feeling sorry for myself about getting kicked out of St. Gabe’s, because the truth was—I was the one who screwed it all up. Me. Term-paper pimp. Cheater. No spin-doctoring that. And I needed to figure out how to move forward. I was so damn sick of standing still.
    I reached into my inside jacket pocket for my wallet. Right on the top, in front of my license, was Ruth Caswell’s card from the Camelot Inn. Wren. I would not mess up this second chance fate had tossed in my path.
    “Hey, dontcha like it?” Mia asked.
    “Oh, yeah, Mia, but . . . my buddy just called. I have to run. Just the check,” I said, getting up. She pouted and