Page 7 of College Boy

“What if I don’t want a girl, Emma?”

“That’s fine,” she teased with a wink and a quick finger gun point. “Plenty of boys will be there, too.”

“You know what I mean. Just ... show me around, you know?”

“I would,” she lied, already turning away, “but duty calls, you know?”

“Food truck. Downtown. Right, I got it, well...”

She paused midway down the sidewalk, chipper face illuminated by the half-full moon, the street as deadly silent as the stranger’s house at his back. “Listen, Mitch, I’ve had a blast tonight. Thank you for my first night of spring break. I hope you have fun this week and, for my sake? Try to keep it down, okay?”

He mumbled something under his breath, but she was too far away to hear it. Instead he just watched her walk away, memorizing every smooth ripple of her perfect little ass and every seismic swish of her effortlessly sexy ponytail until she disappeared, across the yard and up her walkway and into the house next door.

And even then he lingered, watching the lights go off in Emma’s house, imagining her kicking off the fuzzy pink slippers in her own foyer and, eventually, tugging off those clingy yoga pants. Unzipping her skimpy little hoodie and slipping back into her nightgown before sliding into bed.

Would she think of him? Mitch wondered, idly, before finally shutting the door. Would she think of him the rest of the night and into the early morning, the way Mitch would surely think of Emma?

And what would she think, later that day, when he showed up at her food truck, beach bag packed and ready, just waiting for her to get off?

In more ways than one...

Chapter Five

Emma

“He’s here foryou?”

“Hey!” Emma slapped Sasha on the shoulder playfully. “Try not to sound so surprised, hater.”

Sasha seemed to reconsider, peering out of the service window and nodding at the tall drink of water sitting hunched over at the corner table all by his lonesome. “Not surprised, per se, just ... jealous, maybe?”

“Don’t let Rich hear you say that,” Emma teased, bumping her coworker’s hip in the surprisingly spaciousPB & Crayfood truck. It was a simple, if effective, concept. All manner of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, made to order, hip as hell and twice as trendy, just perfect for the slew of tourists after a long, sunny day at the beach. Or, as the catchy logo under the dancing peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the top of the truck said, “Comfort Food with a Twist!”

“Please,” Sasha teased, nodding at the curved sign over the entrance to their own little food truck court, sandwiched between a souvenir stand and a local brewery on Seagull Street, the main drag through downtown. “What happens on Snack Street stays on Snack Street, right?”

They shared a conspiratorial chuckle, woman to woman, Emma smoothing down her tan and purple work apron nervously as she struggled not to stare at Mitch across the cobblestone paved lot that was central to their half-dozen eclectic food trucks, situated in a semi-circle around the casual outdoor dining patio. “I thought he was kidding.”

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