Page 31 of No More Bad Boys
“A medieval weapon?”
“Errr,” he makes a game-show-wrong-answer noise. “I’m sorry. It’s actually a durian—treasured for its sweet custard-like flesh.”
“Okay, well it still looks painful. Now your turn. Close your eyes.”
As Blake obeys my command and stands by our cart with his eyes tightly shut, I peruse the display of strange produce and pick one, reading the chalkboard sign above its bin.
I’ve chosen a bright red furry ball covered in yellow quills. He’ll never guess it.
“Okay ready.”
“Hmmm. Let’s see… wow. That looks like a tribble, doesn’t it? Um… are you sure that’s edible?”
“Quit stalling. Take a guess.”
“A… rambutan.”
My hands come to my hips. “Hey—not fair. You knew that one already. You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”
“Once or twice. Put that tribble in the cart with the medieval mace and let’s move on to the stinky cheeses. They have samples of everything, and some of them are so strong, they’ll curl your hair.”
We spend an hour at the store, sampling foods and filling the cart with exotic foods we’ve never heard of as well as a few normal staple items. I’m having a marvelous time, and Blake has been smiling almost non-stop, so I think he is, too.
I suspect he knew shopping together would actually be fun, after all. In fact… it’s already the best date I’ve ever had.
We’re standing in the checkout line when Blake says, “So, for part-two of our no-fun evening, I was thinking we’d go back to my place and cook up some of this stuff. Unless the cheese cubes and edamame hummus samples filled you up.”
“Oh. I… uh. I don’t know about that.” All the lighthearted fun of our evening comes to a screeching halt when I think of going back to Blake’s apartment. Here under the bright fluorescent lights and surrounded by refrigerator cases, I’ve found it hard not to stare at his lips, not to think about that almost-kiss in the engineering dungeon yesterday.
If we go back to his place, I’m afraid of what might happen, of what he might expect. He’s a twenty-four year old man, after all.
If the nineteen and twenty year olds I’ve been dating push me for quick sex, then how much more will Blake expect?
And everything’s been going so well. I’m afraid sex will just ruin it all.
Looking over at him—the tight, athletic body, the beautiful face, the big hands—there’s no doubt he’s had plenty of opportunity and therefore a lot of experience.
I however, have an extremely limited sexual repertoire. Even if I had vast experience it might not help, because I’m pretty sure I suck at the whole thing. It would take him about… oh ten minutes in bed… and he’d figure that out.
And then thiswhateverwe have going on will be over. I’m not ready for it to be over yet.
“Can we go out instead?”
“Out.” He seems to be thinking. “You mean… to a restaurant?”
Great.Now he thinks I want him to spend a lot of money on me or something.
“No. That would qualify asfun.” I smile to let him know I’m teasing. “Let’s just go to a fast-food place. Or get something from a drive-thru and eat it in the car.”
He studies my face for a minute. “Stay here with the cart—I’ll be right back.” He dashes away, back through the store.
A few minutes later he returns carrying a box containing a rotisserie-roasted chicken, a long, paper-wrapped French bread stick, and a couple of deli cartons.
A bottle of wine is tucked under one of his arms, and he’s dangling a bag of ice from two fingers.
I take the ice and the wine and place them in the cart. “Forget some things?” I ask.
“We’re going to have a picnic,” he announces.
