Page 7 of Book Boyfriend
Fisher leans forward, turning his head to see my face. “Sound good?”
I nod.
He stands next to me, his shoulder touching mine. “Two of those too, please.”
He reaches into his wallet and I start to reach into my shorts for cash out of habit. When I was with Ollie, I usually paid.
“Oh no, you don’t,” he says, placing his hand over mine. “This is my treat, remember?”
I nod again, feeling awkward. “Chips and guacamole too,” I shout out. What the hell. How often do guys buy me dinner?
Fisher smiles as the taco truck driver looks at him. “She can have anything she wants.”
I suddenly feel confident. I haven’t had a guy be this nice to me in forever. “Anything?” I question, turning to face him.
His dark eyes meet mine and his smile fades. “Anything.”
Oh shit. Spinning around to face forward, I say, “Chips and guac then.”
Could I really haveanythingwith him? Like, if I asked him to climb back on top of me and grind his hips into me, would he do it? I shush my inner dialogue. Why am I acting this way? Luna. It’s all her fault. She put stupid ideas in my head. I’m going to eat until I’m stuffed and go back to my room. That’s it. This is an apology dinner. Nothing more.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to face him. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know that. I wanted to. Plus, it is Taco Tuesday after all.”
I grin. Now he’s speaking my language.
Our margaritas are the first thing ready. He hands me mine and we both take a sip at the same time. “Yum,” I say as my eyes roll back in my head.
“He wasn’t kidding.”
The taco man hands Fisher all the food in a box and Fisher motions toward a picnic table nearby.
I climb into my seat and refrain from greedily grabbing my food from him. It smells so good. He divvies up the tacos and pushes the chips and guac my way.
“You can have some. I’ll share,” I tell him.
I hand him a fully loaded chip and he stuffs it into his mouth in one bite.
We start eating and it’s gloriously quiet. The waves on the beach and our mutual moans of approval as we bask in food glory are the only background noise. As I open my second taco he breaks the silence.
“What brings you to the Keys?” he asks.
“Maybe I live here.”
“In a hotel? I think not.”
“What if I’m really homeless but I saved up enough money for one night in a nice place?”
“Most homeless people don’t have mani-pedis with red nail polish.”
I gaze down at my hand. “What if I won an all-inclusive stay in a contest?”
“Did that contest include a laptop?”
“Hmm . . . What if my laptop was the only possession I had left?”
“That and a Fall Out Boy concert T-shirt from last year’s tour?” he asks as he reaches over and loads a chip with a guacamole and hands it to me.
