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“Me? What about you, Mr. Kennedy-doesn’t-eat-fries?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“I suppose those stalker tendencies of yours have come in handy lately . . . especially tonight. Maybe you are Batman after all.”
He laughs, but before he can respond, June comes back with our food, and we wait until she’s out of earshot again before circling back to our conversation.
“So . . .” I change the subject before he notices the cartoon hearts in my eyes. “What brought you to our quaint little corner of North Georgia? Was Springer your first-choice school?” I pluck my straw from the paper wrapper and pop it into my malt.
He does the same with his, swirling the whipped cream into the chocolate. “Quaint sums it up perfectly. I was accepted to several other schools, but after my parents . . .” He blows out a breath. “My circumstances changed, and the idea of holing up in a small town suddenly appealed to me.”
My heart lodges in my throat. “I’m so sorry about your parents.”
“Please don’t.” He drops his gaze to the table. “I’d rather not talk about them.”
Despite the desperate need to know more about his past, I smile and nod.
“What other schools were you accepted to?” I take a tentative bite of my burger, humming with satisfaction as the savory tang of charred meat and tomato hits my tongue.
“All the Ivy League schools. Plus Stanford. Berkeley. A few others.” He abandons his malt, picks up his burger, and takes a big bite, effectively dropping the subject.
I swallow before freely gaping at him across the table while he chews. Who gets accepted into every Ivy League school they apply to? I knew he was smart, but apparently Jordan Keller is a damn genius.
“Hold on. You got into Yale. Princeton. Harvard. And you picked Springer?”
His gaze lingers on me for a moment. “It may not be the obvious choice, but I don’t regret it.”
Our eyes meet across the table, and my pulse quickens as an invisible connection forms between us. Jordan glances away first, breaking the spell.
He clears his throat. “What about you? Why did you decide to enroll in a quaint little university in the North Georgia Mountains?”
I chew quickly and take a sip of my malt to wash it down. “I’m actually from here. My parents met at Springer. But I would’ve ended up here regardless. They have the best engineering program in the Southeast.”
He grins. “So I’ve heard.”
“Unfortunately, it’s also one of the most expensive,” I mutter.
Jordan stops eating and rests his elbows on the table. “Something wrong?”
“I . . .” Torn between confiding in him and protecting my privacy, I shake my head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t ask me anything more on the subject. I have zero intention of exposing my financial troubles. Or the fact that the probability of landing a scholarship dwindles with each passing day . . . and what that means for my future.
I take another bite of my burger, chewing slowly and swallowing before changing the subject. “I haven’t thanked you yet.”
“For what?” He cocks his head, and a deep V forms between his brows.
I lick mustard from my finger, avoiding his probing gaze. “For showing up tonight.”
He places his half-eaten burger back on the plate with a groan. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t even get there on time. I should’ve figured it out sooner. I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve”—he glances at the T-shirt covering my ruined blouse—“what almost happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault. And I’m fine. I guess I should thank my mom for dragging me to that self-defense class over the summer.” My hands shake, and I sit on them to stop the trembling. “I should’ve never gone into that place without one of you guys there. I told Nicole it looked sketchy from the minute we pulled in.”
“Next time wait for me.”
“Trust me, there won’t be a next time. I’m never going bowling again.”
Jordan shakes his head and laughs. “I’m not talking about bowling. Give me your phone.”
