Chapter 8
Amaya
S
urprisingly, Tate enjoyed the show I took him to at an improv bar. It’s a bit like watching Whose Line is It Anyway, but live. He was laughing and totally into it. I told him next time I want to see him on stage. He didn’t find that nearly as entertaining. He kept wanting to hold my hand and whispering in my ear. Making his closeness hard to ignore. Gah, he cleans up real nice too. I’m used to seeing him in workout gear or casual stuff. But that man looks mighty fine in a white dress shirt and black slacks. His butt looks so firm. I want to grab it. I didn’t have to make him change, but I like watching him squirm. I might also enjoy telling him what to do too.
He keeps rising to every challenge I present him with, surprising me. Keith never listened to me. It felt like I was always chasing after him.
Tate just keeps pushing. The harder I try to stay away and keep things friendly, the closer he gets to pushing down my walls. I can’t believe he is making me hold his hand in front of everyone as we walk back to the dorm so he can grab his wallet. He forgot it thanks to me rushing him out the door earlier. The whispers were already starting to circulate and now there will be full blown screams of us dating echoing all around campus.
I’m not ready for this but I want Keith to back off. I thought seeing the theater in live action would be good for Tate and it gets his hands off me on the dance floor for a night. Not that I am minding them much right now. I could have worse prospects.
When we get to the tower, some clinger walks up to us with a sad smile and says, “So it’s true. Tate King is off the market?”
I start to say no, but Tate cuts me off. “That’s right, Amaya’s my girl.” He kisses the top of my head and grins like he is so damn proud to be mine.
Why does he have to be so damn sweet?
Why can’t he let me hate him from afar?
Okay, hate is a strong word. I don’t hate the guy, not even a little, but I’m scared of getting hurt again. Tate doesn’t date. Everyone knows he has a reputation for not getting tied down.
So, why me?
What’s changed?
Does he see me as a challenge?
“Well, the female population is probably going to go into a panic of depression with that news.” She gives pause. “You guys look good together.” She shoots me a sincere smile and walks away.
“Well, that was...” I trail off.
“That was Beth, she’s not as bad as some of the others. Actually, she’s been a somewhat bodyguard for me. She uh, keeps the crazier chicks away from me.” He scratches at the back of his neck, looking slightly embarrassed.
We’re not together, I have no right to what I’m feeling at the moment, so I shake it off. “You don’t have to be embarrassed talking about your sexcapades. We could even share and swap stories,” I say sounding excited, although I’m really trying to hide my jealousy that he’s been with countless others.
His eyes narrow at me and he looks pissed. “Listen, I’m not sharing that shit with you, and you are damn well not going to share that shit with me. That’s something we don’t need to know about each other. When, and I mean this, when we finally get together, then we can be open and honest with each other about how many people we’ve been with. That’s it. We’re not sharing sexual stories of any other kind. Got me.”
He’s glaring heatedly at me, waiting for me to respond, but I just nod instead of opening my mouth. I’m half terrified I’ll end up blurting out that I need him right here and now.
“Good.” He grabs my hand and pulls me along.
I wait in the lobby while he runs up to get his money. Girls keep staring at me like they want to pat me on the back or claw my eyes out. My ears are burning; I just know they are whispering about me. I keep staring at the elevator trying to will Tate to step from it every time the doors slide open. I’m not used to this kind of attention. I’m only used to people watching me perform.
Tate comes out from the stairwell a few minutes later.
“Let’s get something to eat.”
I nod and there he goes again grabbing my hand and hugging it tightly with his. I’m starting to like the way he takes control a little too much. We walk a few blocks to a quiet diner I come to when I want privacy to pig out. The place is all kinds of awesome. Decked out and made up to look straight from the 1950’s. The barstools are black and white checkered. The booth seats are too.
The walls are painted an aqua blue, trimmed in hot pink. The cash register sits in the dash of an old hotrod. I love this place. They even have an old-timey jukebox that plays a lot of Johnny Cash and Elvis.
Tate grins taking it all in.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here.” I shake my head sliding into the booth.
He tries to sit with me, but I motion for him to sit across from me. He chuckles but does as I want. I need a little space. Tate sucks the air from me, he’s is so intense.