19
We went to a gyro place on Main Street, directly across from the college. The place is the rattiest restaurant ever, with decades’ worth of greasy smoke layering the walls. The tables are rickety and never clean, and the place has a scary-ass health rating.
But their gyro’s are awesome, with giant shanks of mouthwatering lamb roasting near the door as you walk in. And the feta cheese sauce they put on the pitas is to die for. And the prices are reasonable, so of course it’s insanely popular with college students.
We waited in line and then ordered. What was interesting was that all the guys working behind the counter knew who Derek was, and shouted out as soon as they saw him walk in.
“What up, bro!”
“Hey man, how’s it hangin’?”
“Yo, D!”
They were all alternative-looking guys, most with scruffy goatees and shaggy hair (which might have factored into the low health score posted in the window). I have no doubt in my mind that they were either in bands, or liked going out to see them.
The only girl working was a waitress, and she looked at Derek, too – but with love-smitten puppy-dog eyes.
I reminded myself not to look like her, ever.
We ordered at the register, but before I could get out my purse, Derek paid.
“I can get my own,” I protested.
“You paid for the movie tickets.”
“Yeah, because I get the student discount. And they were only four bucks apiece.”
“That’s still eight bucks. I got this.”
My guilt was beginning to get the better of me.
Southern guys always pay on dates. If they don’t pay, it’s not a date; it’s a clear ‘we’re only friends, and I’m not looking for more’ message. Or it was a massive faux pas, because it meant the guy was cheap.
Or, I supposed, the guy could just be flat broke… but in that case, it was better to hang out and watch a DVD instead of embarrass yourself.
Even though Derek didn’t have the slightest hint of a Southern accent, he was paying. And if he paid, this was so not just ‘talking about the movie over a gyro’ anymore.
“I really should pay for mine,” I insisted.
He gave me a knowing grin. “Ohhhh, you’re a feminist, huh?”
“What?” I said, taken aback. “Yeah, kind of – so?”
“You can get the tip,” he said, waving me off.
“That’s only 15 percent!”
“Tip more, then,” said the shaggy dude behind the register.
“Yeah, tip more, then,” Derek grinned. He gave his buddy a Laters head nod and then walked towards the seating area.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath as I followed behind him, trying so hard not to look at that perfect ass in front of me.
“Look, I need to pay you,” I said as I caught up to him.
He gave me a look like I was quite clearly insane. “I got it covered.”
“I know that, but I need to pay for my food.”
“Why?” he asked, exasperated.
“Because if you pay, it’s a date. And I can’t go out on a date with you, because I have a boyfriend. And that’s why I need to pay for my food.”
He looked down at me with those sleepy, half-lidded eyes… and I got lost in their green depths again, waiting to hear what he would say.
Like, for instance, Your EX-boyfriend, Kaitlyn. Which means you can do anything you damn well please.
I KNEW that was what he was going to say.
Or, You can tell yourself anything you want, Kaitlyn, but we both know what this is.
Or, Maybe I want it to be a date.
Or, You really think that paying for your food is going to change anything that’s going on here?
Or –
“Okay,” he shrugged.
Oh.
Hadn’t expected that.
“…yeah?” I asked, a little stunned.
“Sure. I understand,” he said, and gave me a friendly smile.
“Oh… okay… cool,” I said, not quite understanding why I felt so deflated.
I reached into my purse, pulled out a five, and held it out to him.
“Yours was about eight bucks,” he said calmly. “With the fries and drink.”
I paused – and then, slightly annoyed, I pulled another three dollars out.
“Plus tax,” he added. “So… another fifty cents should do it.”
I stared at him openly now, even more irritated.
“Fine,” I muttered, and reached back into my purse –
“Jeez, I’m kidding,” he laughed, and pulled the five out of my hand, leaving behind the ones.
Now I really was flustered.
“Hey, I owe you this!” I said, holding out the dollar bills.
“You paid for the movie.”
“So?”
“So you better keep it, or you’d have to tell your boyfriend you took me out on a date,” he said with that insufferable (oh so sexy) grin of his.
Damn you, Derek –
“You’re taking the three dollars,” I said.
“Then you’re going to have to put them in my pocket yourself,” he smirked, and turned and walked off to grab a table.
Gritting my teeth, I stuffed the dollars back in my purse.
And tried really, really hard not to watch his ass as he walked away.
I tried even harder not to imagine myself stuffing the dollar bills into his back pocket… and what it would feel like with my hand in his pants, my palm cupped against his firm ass…
I failed miserably.