“Okay, well…” I attempt to scoot out of the booth and run away, only to be stopped when he slides in my side and jams me between his strong body and the wall. “Um…”
Digging a hand into his coat pocket, he comes back with more gummy worms. Again, he offers, and again, he shrugs when I shake my head. “More for me. How’s your week been? Anything exciting going down?”
“Nope.”
“Get an offer from the Russian Dance Troupe yet?”
“Ah… no.” Stuck for now, I pull my bag over my head and set it on the bench seat between me and the wall. My laptop is heavy, and my notebooks make it all heavier, but I don’t mind. Carrying my laptop with me has become as natural as putting on shoes on my way out the door. “I don’t really dance anymore. I’m too busy for that.”
“Put on private shows?” His eyes come to me and show a whole other kind of hunger. “I’ve dreamed of your body, Sophia. I’ve dreamed of your beautiful eyes and long hair, and I sure as shit wouldn’t mind seeing you dance. We don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna. Clothes are optional.”
“You’re so crass!” I forgo the knife and jam my fist into his thigh instead. “I’m not dancing for you, asshole. I’m not doing shit, except maybe applying for a new apartment on the other side of the city.”
“Don’t do that,” he laughs. “I don’t want noisy assholes moving in upstairs. That’d make me insane, so then I’d have to move. And knowing your luck, we’d be back in the same apartment building.” He flashes a charming grin. “So really, you should just save your time and energy and stay put.”
“I don’t dance anymore. And I definitely don’t dance for men, so you’ll just have to find a different Russian princess to lift her skirt for you.”
“We’ll see.” He turns when Ginnie arrives with burgers and fries despite the fact neither of us ordered. My plate is just as heaped as his, but my stomach doesn’t give a shit about proprietaries and acting like a lady. I snag my plate and pull it closer before he gets it in his head to steal a fry, then picking up my burger, I take a massive bite to fill the void in my stomach.
Jay winks at Ginnie in thanks, then turns back to me with an appreciative eye as I eat my burger. “Well, alright then.” He picks up a fry and tosses it into his mouth, then a second, and a third, until we’re a couple of cows out to pasture. “When was the last time you ate somethin’, Soph? I’m scared you’re gonna eat the table soon.”
“I ate at nine.”
He glances at his watch. “Nine last night?”
“No, nine this morning.”
He frowns. “That was two hours ago.”
“I know.” I take another bite and moan. “Two hours is a long time in my world. I eat a lot.”
Leaning back, he stares along my body with a critiquing eye. Fuck him for critiquing me. “You weigh, what… a hundred and fifty pounds? At the most.”
“One-forty-three, jerkoff. You don’t see me judging your plate. You have the exact same amount of food as me.”
“Right, but I weigh twice as much as you.”
“You’re fat,” I grumble.
He’s not fat. Not even a little bit. He’s toned all over, with broad shoulders and strong hands. His chest is large, and his jawline is square. There’s not an ounce of fat on him, not even beneath the extra winter coats he wears.
Lips twitching, he turns back to his burger and picks it up with both hands. “Touché. Guess I could stand to lose a couple pounds.” He takes a large bite of his burger and winks when ketchup drips onto his chin. Playfully, he slides a finger over the mess, then pushes his finger into his mouth and sucks.
I feel like such a cliché as I look on in mesmerization, but when he chuckles, I turn back to my food with a roll of my eyes and keep eating.
Minutes pass as we consume our massive portions. Our plates empty at the same rate; my stomach keeps up with his despite his challenge that I can’t possibly eat it all. When he shoves the last of his burger into his mouth and chews, he picks up the napkin and wipes his hands. “You got a medical condition for eating so much?”
“That’s a rude question to ask a lady.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t mean to be rude. Just inquisitive.”
His lack of filter is charming, like he’s a child and genuinely curious, and no one taught him the basic societal rules like how it’s rude to ask a lady her weight or age.
“I have hypermetabolism, so I have to eat a lot or I get shaky. It’s not a big deal; I like eating, and I can eat anything I want without guilt, so it’s whatever. My job requires a lot of work and concentration, so I have to keep up with the food, or I spaz out and make mistakes.”
Nodding, he selects a fry and brings it to his mouth. “Same, I guess. I developed this weird metabolism this year. I was always a hungry dude, but this year it went into hyperdrive. Now I have to eat all the time, too, or I get kinda nauseated.”
“It’s not a big deal though, right?”