Page 43 of Dirty Roulette
She glances down at her feet and sways back and forth on her heel. “It’s fine. I get it. I probably wouldn’t be over my ex if we dated for three years and it’s barely been three months. I saw her kissing you earlier.” She bites the tip of her thumbnail.
Her eyes dart all over the room, avoiding mine.“She’s trying to get back together with me but...”
“But what?” She asks.
“I want you...”
She pauses, biting on her bottom lip, and fluttering her eyes as they fall to the ground. “Oh...”
The room goes still, with only the faint tick of air pooling out of the vent above me. “Where do you want to eat?” I ask. My pathetic attempt to tell her I like her didn’t do anything other than rip off a painful scab.
She tilts her head to one side. “You’re going to think I’m lame.”
I reach for her hand and pull her close. “Oh come on. I want to treat you.” My head rests between her breasts, and I kiss her collarbone. In an instant, her arms are infected with goosebumps, and her nose gets rosy red.
“Okay, hear me out.” She squeezes my shoulders. “There’s this hot dog stand...”
“Honey, I already have a hot dog stand for you. Just say the word, and it’s yours.”
She giggles as she dips her head to the side and pushes me in the shoulder. “You’re not gonna sleep with me that easily.”
“Okay, okay. Tell me about this hotdog place.”
She wraps her arms around my neck, leaning into me, and pecks me on the cheek. “My Mum would take me once a month to get one of these hotdogs. You have to try them. They cook the hotdogs with a secret cooking oil and they don’t tell anyone. It’s like one of those recipes grandma takes to her grave. They taste like heaven. Oh my lord.” She leans her head back and groans. “They are so bomb!”
“You don’t want a fancy steak with lobster and some crazy girly salad?” I push away her hair, cupping her face as I peck her lips.
“No, I want to eat hot dogs. I’ve never shared this secret place with anyone.”
“Alright, special hot dogs it is.” I pat her waist, signaling her for us to hightail it out of here.
Payton grabs my index finger as we race out of the dorm and down the three flights of stairs to the parking lot. She lets go and runs to the Jeep, unsuccessfully pulling on the handle to the passenger side door.
“You’re not opening that yourself.” I dig in my pocket and unlock the Jeep, helping her in.
When I get in, she kicks open the glove box, flipping through her collection and tuning the stereo to her liking. I back out of the parking lot and listen to her telling me how to drive. Any time we have to turn, Payton stretches out the seatbelt, and pushes me on the shoulder, pointing at the sign. She’s bossy, making me go left, then right. There were a couple of instances where she shouts about stopping at a yellow light.
“Oh my god! We’re here!” Her fingers wiggle at a food truck wedged between two buildings. There are picnic tables with red and white striped umbrellas. The line doesn’t look too bad as I pull in and park.
This girl must have snorted cocaine because she leaps out of the Jeep and opens my door before I can even turn the vehicle off. “Hurry up!I’m hungry!” She crawls over my lap, unbuckling me, fisting my shirt, and tugging me out of the seat.
“The hot dogs aren’t going anywhere.”
I slide out, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into my chest. My lips brush against hers as we get in the line of people waiting to order. This feels more natural, like it should be something permanent.
When it’s our turn, she doesn’t get any luxury hot dogs on the list. All she asks for is something simple – mustard, ketchup, relish, and onions. That is all she wants. Then she digs through a deep fridge, pulling out a bottle of strawberry milk.
I get a couple of New York dogs, with a side of onion rings and soda. The wait isn’t long. I have our baskets and plop down at one of the picnic tables with her sitting across from me. She didn’t lie about being hungry – ketchup covers her fingers, and she’s licking off everything that spills onto her hands. I’ve never wanted to be a piece of food so much in my life. The hot dog disappears within a matter of minutes, and I still have one more dog to chow down.
“You know, I remember the first time I ever got drunk, and you’re the one to blame.” She steals an onion ring, dipping it into a cup of ketchup.
“What?” I ask in mid-chew, before grabbing my soda and taking several gulps to wash down the bun sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“Do you remember Kyle in eighth grade?”
“Sounds like a douchebag already.” I wipe my fingers on a napkin, staring at the way her chin lies on her hand. God, I could kiss her now.
“I got this Ramones shirt from Goodwill and his name was written on the tag.”
