Page 110 of Pucking Matt
So, when we pull into the diner parking lot, he parks the truck and says, “Don’t move,” I don’t listen. When he comes to my door, I’m already hopping out.
“I said to wait,” he scolds, looking down at me.
I shut the door and say, “Who says I have to listen?”
He puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to give me shit all weekend, aren’t you?”
I peer up at him. When his eyes meet mine, my heart flutters. I mock him, “It wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t. Isn’t that what you said?”
He shrugs, keeping his hold on me as we walk into the diner.
“That’s why you chose me as the perfect candidate for this weekend.”
We sit at a booth. Matt takes the opposite side of me and grabs the menu.
“So, we’re fake dating all weekend?” I ask.
He leans back, touching his foot with mine. “Yeah.”
I slide my foot up his leg as he looks at the menu. When I reach his thigh, he looks at me. I smile and keep going. It’s just my shoe, so it’s not like I would actually feelit.
He scoots his ass to the back of the booth and puts his elbows on the table. “You’re going to smash my dick.”
I playfully roll my eyes like I’m innocent. “I’m just flirting with my boyfriend.”
He rolls his eyes. “Real mature.”
“Hello. Welcome to Betty’s Diner. What kind of drinks can I get started for you?”
“Coffee for me,” Matt says.
“Same.” I smile.
“Got it. I’ll be right back with that while you look over the menu.”
“Thank you,” we mutter at the same time.
I grab my menu and look at the classic American menu. We have no choice but to order from the breakfast menu.
“What kind of breakfast food do you like?” Matt asks.
“High protein,” I answer. “It helps with my mood for the rest of the day.”
“Damn, Amby. Another thing we have in common.”
I place the menu down and turn my attention to him. “That’s a stretch,” I say only to mess with him. He keeps pointing out things we have in common like he’s surprised. “Let’s play a game.”
He leans in, intrigued. “I love games.”
“Yeah, and you sound fucking surprised every time we have something in common, so we’re going to play a game of getting to know each other. Open up our text messages.”
He reaches for his phone from his pocket. “Why?”
“No cheating.” I pull out my phone and say, “Write down your favorite color, and don’t hit send yet.” I write my favorite color. “Okay, you next.”
“This is your game,” he says, and I shoot a look at him, so he takes a moment to think of a question. He says, “Okay. Social security number.”
I laugh as the coffee is placed in front of us.
