I pull her into a quick hug and she shoves her way out of it. Public displays of affection are definitely not her thing, but I’m trying. “I’m fucking starving.”
“How was practice?” She falls into step beside me and I tug the hood of my sweatshirt over my head as we walk together toward the parking lot.
“Good. Exhausting. Coach ran us extra hard.” We have a game on Thursday, though it doesn’t count. The season officially starts next week, and the team feels ready, though our coaches disagree, as usual.
“Oh. Maybe you’re too tired to hang out?” She glances up at me with those sad blue eyes, and I wonder if something happened today.
And would she even tell me about it.
“Nah, let’s go get something to eat. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
We get to my car and I drive to a nearby shopping center, where my favorite California poke bowl place is. The restaurant is packed, like it always is, and Jensen and I get in line, her nervous energy tipping me off that something’s up.
“You don’t like this place?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. I’ve never been here.” She studies the menu, frowning. “I don’t know what half this stuff is.”
For some reason, I’m happy she actually admitted that. I remember when I took her to the Italian restaurant, how lost she looked while staring at the menu. She didn’t know what to get, didn’t know how to pronounce the words, and I felt like an asshole, taking her there, making her feel uncomfortable when that was the last thing I wanted to do.
“I’ll help you, promise. This place is like Subway, but for poke bowls, since you pick all of your ingredients as you go down the line. And a poke bowl is like sushi, but all mixed together in a bowl. Do you like sushi?” I ask her.
“Never had it.”
This girl hasn’t experienced much but hardship and bullshit, I swear. “Well, the base is white or brown rice and wontons if you want, or a vegetable mixture. Then you add a protein, like shrimp or chicken, or ahi tuna, which is raw tuna.” She makes a face, but I keep talking. “And then you mix the protein with a sauce. They have all kinds—sweet, spicy, a miso sauce.”
“What’s miso?”
“It’s a spice, I think. Ever had miso soup?” When she shrugs, I continue. “Well, after the sauce, then you can add vegetables, add even more sauce if you want, crunchy toppings, and you’re done.”
She examines the bowls currently being made, her eyes lighting up with interest. “They look kind of good.”
“They’re fucking delicious.” She turns to look at me, a smile on her pretty face. “I’m a hardcore fan. Come here at least once a week, maybe twice.”
“Really,” she drawls, nudging her shoulder against my arm. “They’re that good, huh.”
“Trust me, they are. I wouldn’t steer you wrong,” I promise.
Her eyes take on a serious light. “I know you wouldn’t. That’s what I like about you.”
That admission felt real, like a damn gift, and unable to help myself, I sling my arm around her shoulders and pull her in close, pressing my lips against her forehead in a quick kiss. “I’m glad you waited for me after practice. It was a nice surprise.”
She gently pulls away, but not so far that my arm drops from her shoulders. I’m still holding her, an obvious public display of affection. This is progress. “I wanted to see you,” she admits.
“I’m glad.” So fucking glad, not that I can make a big deal about it. She’s sketchy, like a wild animal that’s close to being tamed. One wrong move and she might run away.
Or scratch your eyes out.
We get our bowls, me helping her out with her order as we move down the line, making recommendations based on her likes and dislikes. I pay for our bowls, Jensen getting us cups of water and our silverware, and when we finally meet at the table she’s settled on, I’m eager to see her reaction to her poke bowl.
“Try it,” I say, setting her bowl in front of her.
She picks up a forkful and tastes it, chewing slowly, her expression completely blank. I’m fidgeting in my chair, afraid she hates it, which is so stupid. Why should I care whether she likes poke bowls or not?
Because you want to share something with her, fuckwad. You like this girl. You want to have common ground with her.
“What do you think?” I ask when she still hasn’t said anything.
She swallows, takes a sip of her water, and then shoves another bite into her mouth. “It’s okay,” she mumbles, her mouth full.