Page 23 of Easy Out

“Thank you for waiting. I’ll take a number three, large, with a diet coke. Oh, and one of those brownies,” I point to the case of desserts on the counter. “The big one in the back. Actually, make it two.” I grin.

These aren’t just regular brownies. We’re talking chocolate brownies with layers of icing spilling over the sides.

“What?” I ask Hart. He’s looking at me like I did something weird. “You told me to order. I ordered.” I shrug my shoulder.

I grab napkins, straws, and condiments while waiting for our food. Tired of standing awkwardly while Hart smirks at me, I offer to find a table for us. There is a small two-seater available in the back.

“Is this the kid’s table?” he asks, setting down the tray of food.

“It’s all that was open.” Hart’s not lying, though. He barely fits. His legs stretch past my chair while my toes barely scrape the floor.

“Thanks for lunch. You didn’t have to do that. I feel bad. I’ll pay you back.”

“Hrmpf.” Hart places my sandwich in front of me. “Yet, your conscience didn’t stop you from ordering two brownies.”

“Fine. I don’t feel that bad.“ He chuckles. “But I do appreciate it.” I take a bite of my sandwich. My eyes practically roll to the back of my head.

“Good?”

“Yes,” I moan. Hart clears his throat. “I usually grab something from the cafeteria or my dorm. I’ve maybe come here once before. Even then, I just ordered fries. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t know about this sandwich before. I could easily become addicted to it.”

I eat a few more bites. The tangy vinaigrette mixed with fresh basil and mozzarella cheese is dancing over my tastebuds. I do a little shimmy in my seat.

Hart watches me as I take bite after bite. I would normally feel self-conscious, but for some reason with him I don’t. I grin back at him with chipmunk cheeks. He seems entertained by my behavior.

“What kind of sandwich did you get?”

“A Cuban.” My nose scrunches in disgust at the giant pickle slices sticking out from under the bread roll.

“I don’t like pickles.” Hart’s hand stops moving before the sandwich reaches his mouth. “Haven’t since I was a kid. It’s the slimy texture. It feels weird in my mouth.” Hart raises an eyebrow and his mouth twists into a smile.

“You might like this. Do you want a taste?” There is a playfulness in his voice I’m not used to from him. Is he teasing me about his…My thoughts trail off and my cheeks flame.

“I’ll take your word for it,” I say, staring down at my food.

We eat quietly until I’m picking at breadcrumbs. “So, are you cool with being my partner?” Hart flicks a fry into his mouth. The way his jaw flexes as he chews is distracting.

“Yes.” I don’t know why I expect him to say more. Hart doesn’t speak. He’s an anti-social grouch. And now my partner.

I’ve been so worried about having to share things about myself I haven’t even thought about how I’m going to get Hart to open up and talk to me.

“What is your schedule like? I have another class in...,” I check the time on my phone, “.... thirty minutes. Do you have practice or workouts or whatever? What do you do in the off-season?”

“Yes,” he says. I hold back a sigh. This is never going to work.

“Do you plan on actually talking to me? Or will I be writing a paper based on yes or no answers? I want you to talk to me. I need you to talk to me.“ Hart stares at the remnants of his sandwich.

“I like it when you talk to me.” I can’t believe I just admitted that. I hold his stare while he judges my sincerity. I hope he can see the truth there. “I mean it.” I hide my embarrassment by digging into my brownie. I offer him half. The smaller half. I’m nice, but not that nice.

“I know.” Hart looks down at his half of the brownie. After a short internal battle, he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth.

“I will. Talk. It’s just...” Hart trails off, looking around the room at all the people.

“I get it.” I nod, ending that conversation. I understand. I think. And if I don’t, I hope one day he’ll explain it to me. “I work every day. Tuesday and Thursday are usually late. Um... how about…” I run my schedule through my head.

“Tonight. Seven o’clock.”

“I can do that. The library?” He nods in confirmation. “Great. I should get going. I don’t want to be late for Anderson’s copy-editing class.” We stand and gather our trash. I keep an iron grip on my second brownie. I’m excited to eat that later. It makes me giddy thinking about it.

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