Some Goliath who looks like Big Foot—Sasquatch they’ve called him. Bearded. Graduated a few years back but in the city to volunteer for something or other.
“Sorry,” I apologize to Kaylee. It’s not her fault she can’t hold my attention, though she is sweet as can be.
Hot piece of ass, the guys have said about her.
We don’t have that phrase in the UK, but it sounds as derogatory as it feels saying it, thus I haven’t repeated it out loud.
Mum would kill me if she heard half the new shite slang I’ve picked up while living here.
Kill.
Me.
Kaylee’s chatter isn’t horrible; I’m just not in the mood for it.
She found me inside, cornered me by the makeshift bar the guys erected out of wood and nails and staples, then proceeded to wrangle me out the front door and onto the porch where it’s quiet and the traffic is low.
No one’s bothered us, and now we’re stuck here making small talk.
“We should plan a date or something,” she hedges, choosing her words slowly.
We could, I suppose. No harm in that…unless you count the fact that she seems to be smitten with me.
Emotional attachment and all that, plus, as sweet and cute as she is, Kaylee strikes me as the type of girl who doesn’t actually have career aspirations.
Babies and boob jobs and Botox more like.
Whatever.
I’m not here to judge.
“Anyway,” she says, “I was talking to some of the girls on the team and we thought it would be really super fun to go like, apple picking or something. They have these super cute places where you can drink wine and apple pick?” She’s talking as if she’s asking actual questions and not telling me about these things. “Or like, I have a few friends who go drink wine and paint? We could do that?”
Both of those things sound bloody awful.
I have no idea what to say, but I’m spared because she continues rambling on hastily.
“Okay I can tell you don’t like either of those options. What if we like, go to a movie or something?”
I glance over. “What kind of movie?”
I love the cinema. Went all the time as a lad, especially on the weekends at school with my friends—it was the perfect escape, especially since we were stuck there.
Ha!
“I hate to use the word chick flick…”
Then don’t.
Action flick, yes.
Chick flick, no.
“Um. What about we go have wings and beer and watch a baseball game?”
Eh. I don’t love the thought of that either. We don’t have baseball in England and I’ve never understood the rules, so watching it is boring for me. I’ve never been to an actual baseball stadium in America and most likely never will, though I’m well aware that I should embrace the customs here, and it is baseball season…
Guilt eats away at me because I know Kaylee is trying to have a conversation.
It’s about as deep as a puddle, but still. She’s trying.
“I wasn’t even sure you were going to be here tonight,” Kaylee says, and I’m not sure I quite believe her.
I’ve been hanging out at the rugby house since the very beginning. Since the guys found out I was on campus and basically hunted me down so I would not only hang out with them, but join the team and participate and play.
“Yeah,” I grunt. It’s not like I have a whole lot going on right now. When I’m not at the house or class, I’m typically found in the den watching movies or doing what Eliza was doing, which was…
Actually I’m not sure what she was doing.
“Hey, what exactly is your roommate working on in that notebook of hers? She didn’t tell me.”
Kaylee looks at me flirtatiously and shrugs. “Well if she didn’t want to tell you, why should I?”
She raises a very valid point. Still, I’m insatiably curious.
“Oh? You don’t want to tell me?”
“I didn’t say I don’t want to tell you. I said if Eliza didn’t want to tell you, why should I? What’s my motivation?”
Kaylee has her brows raised flirtatiously, and I swear her lips are puckered, too.
Or maybe it’s the dark night sky and the dim light on the porch playing tricks on me. Surely she doesn’t want me to kiss her? In exchange for information?
That’s like—extortion.
Or blackmail.
Not really sure which one, but…something.
“I’m not sure what you mean by motivation.” My fingers are still wrapped around the beer bottle, and I’m holding on to it for dear life. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Kaylee observes me in the dark shadows, and I can see she doesn’t believe I’m confused about what she means; nonetheless, she braces herself to explain. Sits up a little bit taller on the porch swing, throws her hair over her shoulder confidently.
“You know what I mean.” She giggles.
“Are you trying to get me to kiss you?”
Her shoulders square up a bit. “I have never in my life had to motivate someone to want to kiss me. Stop being weird.”