Friday. Stoke's Bar & Grill, Miami, FL.
QUENTIN SAT IN SILENCE, staring at the glare on the dashboard. The smell of the fries still tickled his nose. Sadness yawned inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole. He'd mostly worn off burgers and fries for this reason. The smell would always remind him of Candi.
Early on, not long after they'd bet, Quentin and Candi wound up grabbing lunch together. It hadn't been intentional. They'd both assumed others were joining them. He remembered watching her demolish a plate of fries. In one of his less stellar moments, he'd opened his mouth and told her she shouldn't eat so many fried foods. Not his proudest moment. Quentin liked to think that he'd grown since then.
What was it she'd said to him?
Damn. He still couldn't remember. Something about her brain fuel. She hadn't missed a beat, though. That's what had stuck out to him. She'd taken his arrogant comment and laughed it off.
That was Candi.