My mother taught me some manners.
We grab a table in the corner, and the place is far enough from campus that it’s not busy. The likelihood that we’ll bump into anyone? Slim to none, thank fucking God.
“I already know what I want.” She shakes her head, declining a menu when the waitress comes to take our order. “Whatever your soup of the day is, I’d love a bowl of that. And a banana nut muffin. Oh! A hot chocolate, too, please, with lots of whipped cream.”
I stare down at my menu, studying the photographs one by one, undecided. Then, “Give me the pita with everything, extra roast beef please. Mayo, mustard, oil. No tomatoes. Lots of lettuce, and I’ll take extra fries with my fries.” I close the menu and hand it back. “I’ll stick with water and a cup of whatever soup she’s having.”
The girl scribbles on her pad, sneaking furtive glances at me beneath her lashes. She’s definitely a student and definitely recognizes me; I wonder if she’ll ask me to confirm my identity later, or if she’ll leave us the fuck alone to talk in peace.
Then, Scarlett does one of my favorite things: stands to remove her coat.
I don’t know what it is about this gesture that gets me excited, but it does, probably because she’s taking off clothes—any clothes, it doesn’t matter to me.
She’s sliding down the zipper and I intently watch it part, anticipation thrumming my chest. Man, I love when she peels her jackets down her shoulders, revealing whatever she’s got on underneath.
The tight shirt does not disappoint, hugging her fantastic rack. Her slender hips sport black leggings tucked into leather boots.
Scarlett plucks her hat off, finger-combing her hair until it’s smooth. It falls in straight sheets, a stark contrast against her crisp shirt. I watch her bend to shove the hat in her jacket pocket before plopping her tight ass back into her chair.
Mine.
And I’d be remiss not to notice her boobs bouncing when she seats herself.
I shake my head to center myself.
Focus, dammit.
“I want to clarify the conversation we had the other night, since we never really finished it.” It’s been eating away at me, niggling my mind—mostly because I want to fuck her so goddamn bad. “You know, the sex talk.”
I pluck a pink sugar packet from the metal holder in the center of the table and roll it between the pads of my fingers. Tap it on the tabletop to busy my hands, folding back the corners.
My knee bounces under the table.
“Which sex talk? The one we had at my house, or the one we had this weekend when you texted me a picture of your rock hard…bat?”
No, I did not send her a dick pic. She is literally talking about the vintage Louisville Slugger my parents gave me when I signed with Iowa.
“The one where we discussed being responsible about it instead of having it.” My nostrils flare.
“Oh that sex talk.” She shifts in her seat, right leg crossed over her left knee.
“Yeah. That one.”
We’re silent for a few seconds when the waitress comes back with our drinks, setting them one by one on the table, loitering. I raise my brows at her, irritated, hoping she’ll take the hint and walk off.
“So let’s talk about it, because it’s all I can fucking think about.”
“That’s because you’re a raging hormone.” Scarlett takes a dainty sip of her hot chocolate. “I mean, look at you. You look like you want to leap across this table and…”
“Bang you?”
She sputters a little, white frothy whipped cream stuck to the corner of her lip. “That’s one way to put it.” Her forearms rest on the table, but her fingers never leave the ceramic mug. “But you know…I don’t want a relationship based on sex.”
“I don’t want a relationship based on sex either, but it would be super neat if we had lots and lots of it.”
“And all this sex you’re wanting to have is with me?” The sip she takes from her hot chocolate is anything but casual as she eyes me above the rim.
“Uh, yes?”
Her laugh is interrupted by yet another server who sets our plates down. She hovers, too, a blatant attempt at striking up a conversation, though not with us as a couple—with me.
My fingertips tap the table, agitated. Knee bounces.
“Can I get you anything else?”
You can get the fuck away from us. “Nope.”
“Are you sure? We have some really great cookies—they were just delivered from the corner bakery.”
Scarlett smiles politely, oblivious. “We’re good.”
“If you need anything else—”
“Didn’t you just hear us say no?”
Jesus Christ, I’m so irritated. Is she hard of hearing? Why won’t these fucking waitresses leave us alone? We were having a goddamn sex talk!
“Sterling,” Scarlett’s voice intones kindly, and she glances up at the girl, smiling apologetically. “We’re good, but thank you.”
She scuttles away.
“Was I being rude?” I deadpan.
“A little?”
I let out a sigh. “Look, we have shit to talk about, and I don’t want to keep getting interrupted.” I glance toward the front counter. “Now that waitress is going to bitch about what an asshole I am, and no one will bother us. See how that works?”
Scarlett’s lips part.
“It sucks, and I’m sorry. I was a dick, but we’re leaving for break in two weeks and I just found you. I’m being selfish.”
She’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about since she left for home, and I’ve been jerking off to images and the idea of her every night, ever since.
My wrist is actually sore; I had to get it wrapped this morning by the athletic trainer.
Her eyes go wide, lashes fluttering. “Just found me?”
“Yeah.” I reach across the table, grabbing her hand. “How the hell am I supposed to freaking enjoy winter break without you? Friday nights are going to suck.”
“I…hadn’t thought about it.”
“I have. Being home sucks. What day do you leave for the holidays?”
“When do you leave?”
“We have a mandatory team meeting with the coaching staff the last night of classes. I’ll get a conditioning schedule from the trainer, see PT one more time, then fly home that Sunday.” I pause, grab a fistful of sandwich, and shove it in my mouth, take a big bite and chew.
The servers might be a pain in the ass, but goddamn this sandwich is good.
I moan, stuffing it farther into my mouth, rolling my eyes.
“God, Rowdy, have some manners!” She laughs, coughing, reaching for the water in front of her to clear her throat. “Stop it or I’m going to choke and die.”
“Too good, can’t help it.” I caveman my voice, chomping down. “So, when do you leave for winter break?”
Down goes her water glass. “Well, I get done with exams early, so I’m leaving on that Wednesday.”
Two more weeks until we won’t see each other until January. Winter break is going to seriously suck; my parents are going to drive me nuts, and I won’t get to see Scarlett. The idea of it is so fucking weird, considering we’ve spent the past six weeks’ worth of Fridays together.
Teasing and talking and making out like teenagers.
It’s been awesome.
“What are you doing while you’re home?”
Scarlett shrugs. “Me? Working if I can pick up hours. It’s hit or miss when all the college students flood the town during their breaks. What about you?”
My shoulders shrug. “I don’t know, whatever my mom has planned—it’s different every year. We don’t have a big family so it’s really uneventful, really fucking boring.” I finally take another bite of sandwich. “My dad bitches every year about all the tourists in town, and this year they mentioned wanting to skip town.”
“It’s Florida! What could be better than that?”
“A last-minute cruise? It’s so cheap leaving from the port in town since we don’t have to fly to get there. Its less than an hour to the coast.”