Page 8 of College Boy

“Kidding about what?” Sasha was using the downtime between customers to admire her new spring nails, a different miniature flower on each lilac background, the vibrant contrast setting off her luxuriant brown skin.

“He said he wanted me to show him around the beach, so...”

Sasha snorted, plump cheeks dimpling around an envious smile. “So what are you still doing in this tin can, Girl?”

Emma hemmed. Just a bit. “I just ... playing hard to get, I suppose.”

“You’ve played that already,” Sasha insisted. “He’s been here for over an hour.”

“I guess he’s waiting for me to get off?” Emma mused, feeling flattered and paralyzed in equal measure.

“So go get off then, damn!”

Emma leaned back against the cluttered prep counter behind her, none too eager to be seen by Mitch as he poured over his obviously just purchased beach bag for the dozenth time since he’d shown up. “I just, what am I supposed to do with him?”

Her friend and coworker of five years snorted. “You were married once, weren’t you?”

“Sasha!”

“I’m just saying, you already know what to do, you just have to have the balls to go out there and do it.”

“With him?”

“Why not him, damn. Long, lean, shaggy hair, look at those big ass hands of his and those pretty boy lips?”

Despite agreeing with Sasha wholeheartedly, Emma still shrank back from the reality of her words, curling into herself as if forming a protective seal against the very assets Sasha was describing. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Sasha went to troll her some more, then merely nodded and sank back against the opposite countertop. “Fine, Em. I get it. But Dave left you five years ago, girl. If you never get back on that horse, then...”

Her best friend and coworker paused, nodding quietly. “Dave didn’t just leave me, remember?”

“We both know that,” Sasha said with a clipped, almost impatient tone. Emma could hardly blame her. After all, they’d only had this discussion about a million times since then. “You know what I mean.”

She nodded pointedly out the service window, a giant rectangle cut in the front of the converted Airstream trailer, as functional as it was trendy. And, luckily for the two business partners, profitable. “He’s hot, he’s young, he’s clearly into you and...”

“And he’s temporary,” Emma finished for her.

“You’re including that in the Loss column?” Sasha wondered, apparently sincerely. “Or the Win column?”

Their eyes met in the space between them. Emma shook her head. “I can’t afford to get hurt again, Sasha.”

“So don’t, then.” Her friend’s advice was blunt, and necessary. “Go into it knowing it’s going to be a fling and leave it at that.”

Emma stared at her grubby work shoes. “I’ve never done that before.”

Sasha was appropriately, even dramatically, shocked. “Had a fling? I mean, not even back in school? Before you two met?”

“Dave and I were high school sweethearts. He was my first and, so far, my last...”

“Your only?” Sasha finished for her.

“Again, try not to sound so surprised.”

“What are you waiting for then?” Sasha murmured, reaching for the double bow on Emma’s too-big work smock and tugging it with purpose. It gave easily, the work smock loosening along with Emma’s pent-up inhibitions. Her friend was right, obviously. Emma was no dummy, she knew this already. She was just hurt, wounded, fragile and broken, even after five long, dry, celibate years.

And in no rush to feel that way all over again.

“Sasha, seriously...” Even as she protested, Emma slid the work smock over her head and hung it from one of the hooks across from the food truck’s back door. The workspace, normally so cheery and girly and friendly and fun, with bopping 80s music from an ever-expanding playlist Sasha blasted from her Bluetooth speaker, had grown ominous and claustrophobic around her, making her ache for more than just an early release.

---