Page 9 of Sweet Little Lies
Chapter 3
Lance
“I’ll have the three-egg combo, with bacon and sausage, a side of fruit, the waffle and a cup of yogurt.”
I hand the menu back to the waitress and turn to see Mica staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief, her dark saucer disks opened wide. Her pink lips agape.
“What?” I ask, slinking down into the booth so I can stare directly at her from across the table.
“Dios mio,” she says incredulously. “Where do you put all that food?”
I chuckle at her ridiculousness. She’s seen me eat a whole pizza and chicken and waffles in one sitting before. This is nothing.
“I’m a growing boy.”
I pat my abs and watch as her eyes follow the path of my hand. Just to mess with her, I slip my fingers under my jersey and draw circles around my navel. I love how her eyes turn an even darker shade of brown, glassy with wonder. Maybe even desire.
I could only hope.
Pretending not to notice her rapt attention – or at least trying to – I trail my index finger down my thatch of hair that leads to the elastic of my shorts. She bites her bee stung lips and then seems to catch herself as she quickly looks away.
I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am disappointed. God, I’ve tried so hard to get her to open up with me. I know she wants to – sexually, that is. I feel it when she’s in my arms, the way she relaxes and gets turned on all in the same breath.
But there’s this tight thread of reservation she holds onto. She never lets it unravel. Every time she inches too close to that line, she yanks herself back. Back into friend’s territory.
It’s infuriating, but also sexy-as-fuck. It just makes me want to try harder. She’s not only a challenge, and I’m insanely competitive, but she’s so beautiful and different than any other girl out there. She has a hold on me like no other.
We’ve been friends for over a year now. There’s been a few times when we’ve made out at parties together where we’ve,ahem, broken through those lines like we’ve hit the end of a marathon. I swear the girl has me whipped like nobody’s business and she’s not even my girlfriend. I would do anything for her and it drives me crazy that she keeps this distance.
Her husky, deeply accented voice invades my thoughts. “So, what is this favor you need to ask of me,mi amigo?”
Oh yeah, that.
I’ve gotten myself into a little jam in school. I struggled to balance it all last year – with everything that happened – and if I want to make the team in the fall, I need to pass my summer classes. And on the top of the list is Spanish.
I suck at foreign language. Unless it’s something to do with food or booze –taco, fiesta, tequila, fajita, salsa and cerveza– then I’m useless. And my hope is that I can convince my Mexican chica here to tutor me this summer. It’s a long-shot, because I know she has a lot on her plate, but maybe I can employ my puppy dog eyes. And bacon to get my girl to do me a solid.
“You know how I fell behind last year, right?”
She nods her head, the empathy etched in grooves of tight-lipped smile. Nobody really knows what happened, because I haven’t told anyone. Even my closest friends, Cade and Carver, don’t know. I didn’t want to tell them because we were in the midst of a championship tournament and I didn’t want to see that look of sympathy on everyone’s faces. I think they knew something was going on, and sure they asked, but I lied about everything. I kept it all to myself.
Sometimes, like now, as I look at Micaela and the sweet light that emanates from her, I want to tell her the truth. But then I wonder if it’s because I want her to know or I just want her to feel badly enough so she’ll let me into her pants.
Seriously though, it’s sometimes hard to talk to Mica because she is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. It surprises me she even gives me the time of day.
Truthfully, I’ve been around the block when it comes to women. There’s no hiding the fact that I’m a player. It comes with the territory. As a twenty-two-year old college athlete, I’ve had just about every type of woman there is. Tall, blonde Barbie Dolls, fun-loving sorority sisters, perma-tanned hoops hunnies, and every other college chick who wants to go a ‘round with the champ and have some fun with a college basketball player.
But Mica’s different. Her grace and beauty outshines the rest on even her worst days – which I’ve never even seen. Her skin is a perfect blend of bronzed caramel and cinnamon – and she tastes just as sweet. Her long dark hair is generally in a long braid or worn straight as an arrow, but is soft as butter and smells like milk and honey.
Aside from Cade and Carver, Mica is my closest friend. While she doesn’t know every one of my secrets, sometimes I catch her looking at me with knowing eyes - as if she can see right through me. Past those darkened curtains I keep closed up tight, away from prying eyes. She seems to see through my darkness and it’s her light that beckons me through my anguish. Makes me feel hopeful in the midst of everything that sucks in my life.
“I’m in a pretty tough spot right now. If I don’t pass my Spanish course this summer with at least a C, I won’t be able to start on the team this season and it’s my last year. I can’t lose everything over a stupid foreign language credit.”
Her eyes grow wide and I realize I may have inadvertently insulted her language.
“I didn’t mean Spanish was stupid…just the grade,” I reassure.
Mica sighs and leans her chin in the cupped palm of her hand.
