| B E V A N D R E D |
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Red wouldn't look away from Beverly, only taking mere sips from his Coca Cola every now and then. Beverly didn't catch his gaze, his jaw left ajar, as he looked down at his wrist. "You're nervous," Red noticed. "Why?"
Beverly shrugged, a short piece of hair falling into his eyes. "I-I'm just tired."
Red laughed at this, leaning back to cross both arms across his chest. He didn't bother speaking any further, only saying a faint thank you, to the waitress who delivered their late-night meal.
The waitress smiled at Beverly, her cheeks flustering as Beverly afforded her his undivided attention—trying his absolute best not to look over at Red. "H-Hi," she whispered, tucking a lone strand of hair behind her ear.
"Here's your double bacon cheeseburger, with a side of seasoned fries. And then, here's your chicken tenders, with a side of onion rings."
Red frowned at the sight of the girl flustered and obviously stuttering at the sight of Beverly. He laughed aloud once the girl was gone. He'd known since the moment Beverly had accidentally seen him shirtless, that Beverly wasn't into—whatever she was willing to offer.
"What's so funny?" Beverly had asked, a smile playing at the curl of lips, as though prepared to laugh alongside Red.
"She likes you . . ." As Red watched Beverly's eyes light up, he automatically knew the younger boy had no clue of the waitresses intentions.
"Oh, I like her, too. She's so sweet—"
"She like—likes you, Bev." Once again, Beverly begins to visibly swoon at the given nickname, but halts, once comprehending Red's words.
"What? No way, she's just a sweet girl." Red shrugged, not bothering to pry any further, but watching in amusement as Beverly spends the rest of their late-night dinner gnawing at his chicken tenders—his face still seeming puzzled.
Was Red right? Did the sweet, waitress really like Beverly like that? Because if Beverly was being completely honest, he was beginning to develop a bit of a crush on Red—not that he'd ever admit that aloud.
"Come on," Red grumbled, standing from his side of the booth, as he slapped a twenty-dollar bill onto the table. "Let's get home."