“So, you realize a gyro is quite filling?” I asked.
“Oh, I know. I get them all the time,” he said, dragging me toward Stavros for his slice of pizza.
“One slice of pepperoni,” he told the guy behind the counter. “You?” he asked, turning to me.
“I’m good,” I said, holding back a laugh. I reached into my bag to pull out my wallet.
“Seriously?” Maddon asked, looking insulted.
“Well, I did say it was my treat,” I pointed out.
“Not in my lifetime,” he said, pulling a scuffed wallet out of his back pocket.
“Hey, slow your role babe, I’m an equal rights kind of chick,” I teased, trying to stop his hand from pushing the money back into my wallet.
“That’s fine. I’m big on equal rights too, but not when I’m on a date.”
“How about going dutch then? That’s okay right?”
“Not in my book it isn’t,” he pretended to growl.
It felt a l
ittle uncomfortable having him pay. I was used to paying my own way since that’s the way my friends and I had been doing it for years. Even when Colton and I were dating, we still paid our own ways. It was obvious here though, by Maddon’s insistence, that this was an argument I wasn’t going to win.
After our world tour around the court, Maddon and I sat with our loaded up trays on the far side off the indoor courtyard, as far away from the screaming kids by the McDonald’s as we could get.
“So, you really think you can eat all that food,” I said, eyeing the gyro, slice of pizza, burrito, and the impulse order of fries he had bought from the burger place.
“I know I can, I’m legit,” he bragged. “Why you don’t believe me?”
“No, I think your eyes are way bigger than your stomach.”
“You interested in betting on it?”
“What’s the wager?” I asked. “Barf bags when you spew?” I teased.
He threw his head back and laughed. “No, I was thinking, if you lose, I get to pick our next date, tomorrow,” he said, emphasizing "tomorrow." “Which, by the way, will most definitely not include any of the crowds here,” he added.
“Okay, so what if I win?” I asked.
“You get to pick the location of our next date.”
“Deal, but just to warn you, I see pedicures in our near future. I think purple will look stunning on your toes,” I joked.
“Ouch, that’s seriously harsh,” he said. “Too bad I won’t be losing. I hope you’re not scared of heights,” he added, taking a big bite of the gyro.
“Uhh- uhh,” I stuttered. I was deathly afraid of heights, which was a challenge I had to overcome while I was a cheerleader.
“Kidding,” he said after a moment, when he noticed I wasn’t eating. “I have something else planned.”
Relieved, I picked up my gyro, minus the vegetables, and took an appreciative bite, thankful that my appetite had returned. After eating about three quarters of my meal, I was stuffed to the gills. I sat there in amazement, watching the Maddon show and feeling like I’d been hustled. He plowed through his slice of pizza, burrito, fries, gyro, and the pasta salad that came with it. He didn’t rush like a starving person, but ate methodically. Each bite seemed synchronized. Just when I thought he was done, he slid my plate over to his side of the table.
“Now you’re just showing off,” I said, raising the white flag.
“Told ya,” he said, finishing off my leftovers with a burst of laughter.
“Where does it all go?” I asked. “I’m used to the football players eating a ton, but a lot of them carry quite a bit of extra weight around they like to call ‘muscle,’” I added, admiring his flat stomach.