I head to the locker room, shower, and put on the new clothes. He’s good at guessing. He’s also got expensive taste. A pair of gray leggings, a pretty shirt dress in royal blue, and a new pair of very lacy, very delicate panties cost over a hundred and fifty dollars, according to the price tags. The receipt isn’t in the bag, so there’s no way to return them.
Randy takes me to a nice restaurant. Everything is expensive. Benji and I didn’t go out on dates very often. If we did it was to see some local hipster band. He’d eat sweet potato fries and complain about his parents not putting enough money in his bank account. It was annoying, but he always paid for me, so I never said anything. He liked to hold things like that over my head so I’d feel like I owed him something. He also liked to manipulate by digging at my insecurities. It set us up for inequity, and that doesn’t work for me. I don’t think it works for anyone.
Randy just seems to want to go out for a nice lunch. He gets a beer, and I get a glass of wine even though I have to work in a few hours. I’m starving, making lunch that much more amazing. Probably because of all the sex.
We get dessert, and not to share because I want my own and so does Randy.
“You work a lot, huh?” he says as he shovels a mouthful of peach pie into his mouth. His dessert choice is ironic.
I got the fried banana and ice cream. Also ironic.
“Yeah. I finished school in April. I’d like to work on a masters in physiotherapy, but the program’s expensive, so I need to save for a while. I’ve worked at the coffee shop since high school. There aren’t any full-time skating-coach positions unless I move to the city, so I do both for now.”
“A masters, huh? So you’re smart.”
I shake my head. “Not really. I mean, I guess for science and stuff I’m decent. I had to work hard to keep my scholarship. School wasn’t a breeze or anything.”
“So do you have a place close by? We have more than an hour before you have to go to work.” He’s got that look on his face.
Right now, more than ever, I wish I had my own apartment. Or one I shared with Sunny so I could take him back there for one last sex-and-orgasm marathon before I have to go to work and he has to leave for Chicago.
“I, uh… um… I don’t live on my own.”
“You have a roommate?” We’re sitting beside each other, not across the table. His arm is draped across the back of the seat, and he keeps running his knuckles down either side of my spine, from my hairline to the collar of my shirt. I can feel it right in my magic marble. Which I would love for Randy to roll again.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Do you think she’ll be home?” Now he’s running a single finger back and forth along the collar of my shirt. That he bought for me. So I didn’t have to deal with wearing dirty clothes. I’m also not wearing a bra since all I had was my ugly, ancient sports one.
My nipples are hard and obvious through my shirt. He’s noticed. He touches the scar on his lip with the tip of his tongue. I can almost hear his thoughts. And he’s got an obvious rod in his pants. It’s angled toward my vagina like a directional arrow. That helps with the mind reading.
“I don’t know. Sometimes she works odd hours.” It’s not a total lie. My mom’s job isn’t always predictable, and some days she works from home. Plus it’s a Sunday, so who knows what she could be up to.
“Well, she won’t mind if we come back and use your room, right?” He leans in and puts his mouth to my ear. “You can always bite a pillow if you’re worried about being loud.”
I picture the scene that might require me to do that. Any one of the many positions from last night would definitely qualify.
“Why don’t I pay the bill and we can get outta here?” Randy nuzzles my neck, and my clit lights up like it’s the Jumbotron flashing a winning score. I’d like to jump him right now. At this table. Regardless of the audience.
I have to tell him the truth. I can’t risk bringing him back to my apartment on the off chance my mom is there.
“Unless you’re not interested.” It’s meant to come off as sarcastic, or cocky, but there’s a waver in his smile, and what might be a little insecurity.
I’m experiencing a high level of embarrassment. It’s almost as bad as the first time I met him—naked, with my fur burger on display—or worse, the limbo period of time after I defaced his underwear and before he ate me out in the bathroom. “It’s not that I’m not interested; it’s just that—” I try not to make a scrunchy face, but I can tell I’m unsuccessful.
“Last night too much for you?” Again with the humor/sarcasm.
There’s no way to say this that isn’t going to be horrifying, so I blurt, “My mom is my roommate.”
Randy cocks his head to the side. I say a little prayer. It goes something like this: Dear God, It’s me, Lily. I’ve probably done this three times total in my life, and you never seem to be online when I am, but it’d be super awesome if you clubbed Randy over the head so he doesn’t remember this whole episode. Thanks.
It doesn’t work. Instead Randy gets the look I’m used to by this point: half cocky asshole, half hot bastard. “You live with your mom?”