“You give yourself too much credit, Luce. My studies happen to be my number one priority.” He smiles sweetly.
“First off, Luce?”
“Yup. We’re on a nickname basis now. You’re Luce, and I’m Matty.” His lips curve ever so slightly. “Unless you want to pick a different nickname for me. Something like…hmmmm…Gorgeous? I’d answer to that.”
I choke down a laugh and snatch the menu. I give it a quick scan just as the waitress appears to take our orders. I ask for a bowl of the butternut squash soup and a coffee, and when Matt winces, I look at the waitress and add, “If you could bring the whole coffee pot and just leave it here, that would be super. My friend loves the smell of fresh-brewed coffee.”
He glares at me.
The waitress just looks confused. “Oh, I’m sorry. We can’t do that. But I can bring you the jumbo mugs.” She glances, mystified, at Matt. “Is that all right?”
Matt sighs.
Once she’s gone, he turns to me in exasperation. “Really? Now you’re punishing me? For daring to ask you out?”
I can’t help but grin. “No, that was just too fun to resist.” I go serious again. “As for the ‘asking me out’ part, I already told you, I’m not interested.”
His blue eyes are smug. “Then why are we having dinner together?”
“We’re not.”
“You’re ordering food. I’m going to order something when she gets back after we talk about this menu—”
“Get the tofu fries and yogurt dip,” I interrupt. “They’re delicious. Actually, get two orders and I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”
His lips quirk up again, as if he’s not at all irritated that I cut him off. “Okay, two orders of tofu fries and then we’ll be eating. Together. You do know what together means, right? Close to or in the proximity of another person.”
“Very nice, Mr. Dictionary.”
He folds his arms on the table and leans across. He’s so tall, and the tables at Crowerly’s are so small, he’s virtually touching me.
“I’m your man if you need some SAT words for your papers.” A naughty grin spreads across his face. “I’m a verbal guy. I like saying things almost as much as I like doing them.”
He doesn’t explicitly define what “things” are, but I’d have to be a total newb not to get his gist. He’s talking about sex things. Dirty things. Hot things. The image of this guy bent over me whispering exactly how he’s going to touch me, feel me, be with me? I’m going to need a pitcher of water not a mug of coffee. The whole idea of Matty—geez, am I really calling him Matty now? He’s in my head, and I need to push him out.
“How is that even true?” I say skeptically. There’s no way he enjoys talking as much as he enjoys screwing some girl.
“Never enjoyed a little dirty talk during your fun time?” He looks disappointed.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I think talking is overrated. Maybe you should practice one aspect—such as the physical—before adding in another component,” I say in my most clinical and repressive tones, but even as I utter those words, I know what he’s going to say in return. The problem here is that Matt could probably turn anything into a sexual innuendo.
“I’m a big believer in “practice makes perfect,” and I don’t get my feelings hurt in the face of criticism, which is why you should test out both my physical and verbal skills. Say, tomorrow night?”
I’m saved from answering when the waitress appears with our two big mugs of coffee. Matt shoves his aside and places his order for fries and dip—Crowerly’s version of it, at least—and a glass of water. The water appears moments later, as if the waitress can’t stand being away from him for even a second.
“I’m busy tomorrow night. I have mock trial practice.”
“Nice. I like that. A real excuse. It helps soothe the sting.” He rubs his chest in mock pain, and I have to force myself not to stare at how well defined his muscles appear even under his T-shirt.
You don’t like muscles, I remind myself.
“Let’s go back to this no-dirty-talking experience. What kind of guys are you dating?”
“Nice ones.”
“I’m a nice guy, and I love a little dirty talk. If you sat on my lap right now, I might say something like ‘I’ve been waiting all day to have your ass in my hands,’ and you could reply with ‘Matty, you’re so big.’” His falsetto brings a reluctant smile to my face. “I like big, hot, strong as adjectives. Just an FYI. And then I’d pull you closer so I could nuzzle your neck and say—”
The bell tinkles as the restaurant door opens and four girls walk in. I grab Matty’s water and gulp it down. His little tame sampler of dirty talk made me uncomfortably warm. This is exactly why I don’t date guys like him. I’d have to take an extra glucose shot every day just to keep up.
The girls must have spotted Matt because they bypass three open tables to walk by ours. As they pass, there’s a contest of who can flip her hair over her shoulder the hardest. I swear the last two eyefuck him so hard, it’s a wonder they make it to their own table upright.