Page 8 of Dirty Money
So, she did. Just the bare bones, that she was a waitress full time and enjoyed it well enough, that she lived alone with a fat gray tabby cat named Bruce, and that she was going to art school.
“Art school huh? That must be fulfilling. Interesting too, I bet.”
Aullie batted the comment away, still nursing disappointment and doubt after the show last weekend and not really wanting to talk about school or her art. She hadn’t even been able to paint for a week, she’d been so distraught. Usually, she did two or three a week. “It’s alright, not quite what I’d imagined it would be.”
Thankfully, before he could probe further, the waitress set two massive margarita glasses in front of them. ‘Good thing I’m not driving’, Aullie thought.
“Are we ready to order?” the waitress asked, wide smile firmly in place.
Aullie wasn’t, she actually hadn’t even touched the laminated menu the woman had set down before. She was about to say no, when Weston asked, “You trust me? I could order for you.”
Surprised again at his gentlemanly manner, she nodded and agreed, “Sure.”
His ability to pull off a take-charge attitude without being oppressive really impressed her. She felt like a woman in good care, not smothered. Something she wasn’t sure that she had ever actually experienced with a man but she was definitely a fan.
“How about that plate with a bit of your best dishes, Senorita?”
With a nod, the waitress scurried away and Aullie’s eyes fell back on the handsome man who sat across from her. “Your turn,” she said. “Tell me about yourself, Weston.”
“There’s not much to tell, honestly,” he said with a semi-shy smile. But, it turned out he had plenty to tell. “I work for an internet start-up my dad created, which is wonderful because I get to do most of my work from home. I won’t bore you with the details about that, though. In all honesty, it isn’t a very exciting job. I have a thirteen-year-old chocolate lab named Titan. He’s my little buddy, and quite possibly the coolest dog who’s ever lived. We play fetch in the park twice a week. You already met my mate Dylan.” He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I sure have. How did you two meet? You seem, um... very... different,” she said, struggling not to sound offensive.
He laughed. “Yeah, you could say that. We met in school. I spent my younger years in England, with my mother. My parents split when I was little. Dad moved here to chase some ‘American Dream’ fantasy. Mum passed when I was fifteen. I’ll stop you right there, don’t apologize. Unless you’re responsible for cancer, I really don’t need to hear it,” he said with a genuine smile. “But once I moved here, I struggled for a while. I was always quiet and not very quick to make friends. Long story short, Dylan befriended me and we went through a lot of our wilder years together, and a couple of tough times too. Hard to break a bond like that, even if you’ve matured faster than the other person, you know?”
“I understand that,” she said, nodding. The guy was deep, and she was entranced by him. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but how old are you?”
“I’ll be twenty-nine in a week,” he replied. “How old are you?”
The difference in their ages didn’t bother Aullie much, she actually preferred older guys, though seven years was a decent gap. “Twenty-two,” she answered. “I hope the difference doesn’t bother you?”
“Not at all, though I would’ve pegged you to be a little older. Twenty-four or five. But no, it doesn’t matter. You’re mature for your age, though.”
“Thank you,” Aullie responded with a grateful nod. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that.
The conversation flowed; relaxed, comfortable, and Aullie had so many more questions. She wanted to learn everything she could about the gorgeous man. Before she could, however, two steaming plates were placed between them. Her empty stomach took over. There was hunger in her stare as she took in the assorted plate of glorious Mexican food that the waitress had placed in front of her.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but now you’ve got options,” Weston laughed. He pointed to the food as he described it; one cheese enchilada, one small chicken burrito, a chile relleno, and a beef empanada all slathered in various sauces and arranged next to a mountain of refried beans topped with a sprinkle of yellow cheese and red Mexican rice. It looked and smelled divine, and Aullie thanked him as she dug in.
The tastes, the textures, the spices, the stretch of the stringy melted cheese, every single detail fired up her senses and she couldn’t help the delighted moan that slipped out. Weston smiled, digging into his food with nearly the same enthusiasm. Their conversation comfortably stalled as they ate, the vocal silence punctuated by the clink and scrape of silverware against plates.
As the wolfing and chewing began to slow, the conversation resumed. The amicable conversation covered their tastes in music, TV, and books. It turned out Weston was an avid reader and, as they pushed the cleaned plates to the edge of the table, he detailed his specific love for Shakespeare.
“I don’t know what it is about his work,” he gushed. “The man was a genius, really. He managed to capture every human pain; jealousy, greed, betrayal. And managed to make it all into art, you know?”
“Yeah,” Aullie said, dreamily. She was lost in his voice, as smooth and sweet as melted caramel. The fact he could speak so beautifully was nothing compared to the passion behind the voice. She had finally met someone else who understood the power and majesty of art, of creation.
The waitress approached, taking the plates and offering dessert. Weston insisted on an order of fried ice cream despite Aullie’s complaints that she couldn’t possibly handle even one more bite. She narrowed her eyes playfully, shaking her head at him.
“You’re trouble,” she accused.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, with a laugh.
“You know exactly why,” she said, slyly.
Before Weston could reply and hopefully continue the flirtation, a massive sphere with a beautiful crispy golden crust drizzled in zig zags of runny chocolate syrup was placed on the table between them. Despite her bloated middle, she couldn’t help the rush of saliva to her mouth. Two spoons rested in the white porcelain dish, and before long the two warred with their spoons, vying for the bites with the most chocolate and laughing hysterically as they did so.
A few minutes later, crunchy bits of fried crust floated in a rich, white puddle of melted ice cream. Weston locked spoons with Aullie, his flashy hazel eyes enraptured her.
