Page 66 of Flirtasaurus
“Your cow friends may disagree with that assessment.”
“Relax, it’s Questlove’s cheesesteak sandwich made with plant-based Impossible Meat.”
“Ew.”
“Questlove rules!” He sounds truly offended.
“Agreed! Questlove is a Philadelphia—if not a national—treasure, but a meatless cheesesteak? Bleh.”
“Oh, you gotta try it. I’m telling you, it kicks Pat’s and Geno’s collective asses.”
“Them’s fighting words in this town!”
“So I’ve heard. Regardless, I stand by them. Here, take a bite.”
So I do.
Leaning over, I nibble on his neck. He smells like soap and the tiniest hint of sweat.
Ralph responds right away with a gravelly sound in the back of his throat and a warm hand cradling the back of my neck. He draws me closer to him.
I guess he found a safe place to set down his cheesesteak because suddenly, both of his hands are in my hair, and he’s kissing me.
I totally lose myself in him. In the rough brush of the stubble on his cheeks against mine. The way his full bottom lip fits perfectly beneath my upper. The way we seem to be breathing completely in sync. I forget that we’re in public. That people can see us. That I probably shouldn’t be getting this attached to him.
The people around us start cheering and jostling us. I swear the guy to my right even jabs me in the ribs with his elbow. I’m about to get annoyed at the interruption and give this dude a piece of my mind, until Ralph pulls away and says with excitement, “Callie, look up!”
I direct my gaze skyward, and there we are, up on the kiss cam, looking shy and red-faced and… happy. We do. We look ridiculously happy.
And with the whole stadium watching this time, we kiss again.
Chapter Fifteen
It’s the night of the museum sleepover, and Otto and I are in the cafeteria, stuffing goody bags for the kids and parents who will be arriving in just a few hours.
“You know what I realized the other day, Otto?”
“What’s that, kid?” he says after a sip from the trusty thermos he always has with him.
“We’ve been dunching together for over a week now. You’ve been sketching while I’ve been writing every chance we get, and… you’ve never touched me. Not a handshake, a high five, a back slap, nothin’.”
“That’s exactly right. And I never will.”
“What? Why not?”
“You millennial ‘me too-ers’ scare the shit out of me.”
“Oh, come on, are you serious?”
“Deadly serious, yes. I’m not touching another woman as long as I live unless I have a signed consent form in place.”
“Dude, that’s ridiculous! And if we want to get technical, I believe I am at the tippy top of Gen Z, but who the hell knows. I don’t really follow that stuff.”
“Well, either way, I’m not taking any chances.”
“Are you sure you’re not a ghost?”
“What the hell are you talking about, kid?”
