CHAPTER 21 #2
She gets hit by a cop car, hurts her wrist, and then I’m the knight in shining armor, protecting her every chance I get, every chance I’m granted.
And I hate it.
I hate this overwhelming, consuming, out-of-control feeling I have whenever I’m around her. It’s…it’s fucking debilitating.
“You know…you don’t have to be rude to me.”
She’s right about that. Then again, I don’t know how to handle these feelings. Do I really like her?
I glance over at her, her long lashes blinking up at me. Jesus Christ, why is she so beautiful?
“I wasn’t…I wasn’t trying to be rude. It just came across that way.”
“Well, it was rude to me, and I don’t appreciate it.”
Grinding my teeth together, I mutter, “Sorry.”
“Ooh, so heartfelt.”
“I’ll send you a card in the mail tomorrow.”
“Now that’s the kind of apology I’m looking for. If you could tack another potted plant onto that, I’d love it. No flowers, though, because they just end up dying, and I think that’s sad. But another potted plant—I’d keep that thing alive and become friends with it.”
The way she just allows my grumpiness to roll right off her makes me like her that much more, because I know I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be someone that I’m not around her, and she’ll still talk to me.
She’ll regret it; I know she fucking will.
I’m not the type of person that you can put up with for a long time. The grumpiness won’t wear off, but the acceptance of it will.
Seeming confused, she glances around and then asks, “Um, are we going in the right direction?”
“I want tacos,” I say.
“Oh, the big man is hungry, okay.”
“Do you want tacos?”
“Are they vegetarian?”
“They do have a vegetarian option, or else I wouldn’t go there.” When she told me she was a vegetarian, I made sure to plug that nugget of info away.
“Well, thank you. Then I’ll definitely have some tacos. Love tacos.”
So do I. Fucking love them, but I keep that to myself, remaining guarded as I sift through this bullshit running rampant in my head.
Instead of engaging in conversation, I remain quiet for the rest of the drive, mulling over all the ways I could bend and break Slutty Little Glasses in half.
By the time I park, I’m buzzing with energy, wishing the douche was standing right in front of me so I could try out some of the ideas that I conjured up.
But I’m pulled from my reverie when Maple reaches for the door.
“Don’t.”
She looks over her shoulder. “Don’t, what?”
“I’ll open the door for you.”
I can see that she wants to argue with me, but she holds back because she knows I won’t concede to certain things.
She stays in the car while I exit and round the front of the truck. When I open her door, I hold my hand out and she takes it as I help her down, but when we usually would let go, I don’t this time. I keep her palm connected with mine as I shut her door.
She glances up at me, questions running through her mind judging by her expression, but I just lead her toward the food trucks lined up along the back of the parking lot.
Every Friday, without fail, my favorite taco truck is parked here, as well as a Cuban-inspired sandwich truck, a wood-fired pizza truck, and a chili truck all ready to serve people looking to get outside after a long week at work.
Hutton told me about them. His wife, Scarlett, stumbled across them on social media, and they dragged me with them one night.
Now, when I get a craving, I know when and where I have to go.
I bring Maple up to the side of the truck to look at the menu, still holding her hand.
Leaning in close, I point at the two vegetarian options.
“There’s a veggie option, grilled fajita veggies, avocado, and cheese.
And then there is just a bean and cheese taco.
If those options aren’t good enough, I can—”
“Excuse me. Are you Graydon St. John?” a little voice says from behind me.
I turn around to find a little boy, maybe six, with wide eyes and a toothless smile plastered across his cute little face.
On instinct, I drop Maple’s hand and squat down so that I’m somewhat eye level with him. “Hey, little man,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “I sure am. What’s your name?”
“Carlton, but my friends call me CT.”
“Can I call you CT?”
His eyes widen as he nods. “Yeah.”
“Does that mean we’re friends?”
His smile grows even wider. “Yeah. Yeah.”
“Good. Do you play football?”
He nods. “With my mom, in the yard.” I look up to see his mom, tears in her eyes as she holds her phone in front of her. She’s not recording but just enjoying the moment herself.
“What position do you play?”
“Quarterback. I throw the ball to my mom.”
“Ooh, I bet you’re really good at it. I probably wouldn’t have a chance at tackling you.”
“I’m too quick.”
I chuckle. “I can tell you are.”
His mom leans forward and says, “Would you mind if we got a picture, and then we’ll leave you alone?”
“Of course,” I say, turning CT around to face his mom. I place my arm around him and turn my hat backward so you can see my face better, and she snaps the picture.
“Thank you so much.”
I offer his mom a wink, then turn CT back around. “Listen, little man, keep working on those passes and be sure to thank your mom for practicing with you. You’re a very lucky guy to have her in your life. I’ll be sure to look for you one day when you’re playing professionally.”
“Okay.” He throws himself into my arms, and I give him a big hug before letting go and standing back up. I offer him a fist bump, and then he takes off, his mom thanking me one more time before I bring my attention back to Maple.
“Sorry about that.”
“Please don’t apologize.” Her watery eyes meet mine. “That was really sweet. You just made that mom’s year, and that little boy will cherish that moment forever.”
Feeling uncomfortable because I don’t like the praise, I just nod and clear my throat. “Uh, did you decide on the tacos you want?”
I can feel her studying me, those devastatingly beautiful eyes attempting to find answers that I’m just not willing to give. Finally, she says, “I’ll have one of each.”
“Okay,” I answer, then step up to the window and order four steak tacos for myself, two vegetarian for Maple, and three Topo Chicos—one for Maple, two for me.
It doesn’t take long for our order to come up, and I grab it for us and bring her back to the truck. I set our food down before picking her up by the waist and setting her on the tailgate.
I look her in the eyes, my hands still on her waist, my thumbs pressing into her sides as I ask, “Comfortable?”
I watch her slowly swallow as she lets out a very breathy, “Yes.”
I pause for a moment, letting my thumbs caress her sides, our eyes still matched up, my mind swirling with ideas of what I could do right here, in this position. How I could drag my hands farther up her body, to her neck…
Jesus, what am I doing?
I quickly release her, clear my throat, and hop up onto my side. I pick up the tacos and dish them out. She hands me a napkin, and I open her drink for her.
Once we’re settled, she takes a bite of her taco, then lets out a long, satisfied moan that makes the hairs on my forearms stand at attention, alluding to something else that will be standing to attention if she keeps that up.
“Oh my God, this is so good.” She examines the taco. “How did they make a flour tortilla so crispy?”
I finish chewing, swallow, and then say, “They grill and press them. And don’t worry, they use a separate grill for the vegetarian tacos.”
She looks over at me, a smirk on her lips. “You know, when you say things like that, it almost seems like you care about me or something.”
I grumble under my breath, because maybe I do, but I don’t want her to know that, then take another bite of my taco, finishing it in two bites.
I wipe my mouth and glance at her to find her staring at me, still just one bite gone from her taco. I’m going to be done with two before she’s even done with one at this pace.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She smiles and takes another bite of her taco. This time, I watch her eyes roll into the back of her head.
Jesus Christ.
This was a bad idea.
I just wanted tacos. I didn’t want a front-row seat to Maple eating tacos like she’s experiencing the best orgasm of her life.
“How did you find this place?” she asks.
“Hutton,” I answer.
“Who is Hutton?”
“Hutton Marshall. Wide receiver for the Foghorns. He and his wife dragged me out one night and brought me here.”
“Dragged you out? I would have loved to see that.” She bumps her shoulder with mine. “Were you kicking and screaming?”
“Practically,” I answer, then take another bite of my taco.
“I’m guessing that you don’t get out much.”
“Not so much.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin.
“So how do you meet people?”
“I don’t need to meet people.”
“I mean…ladies.”
I cock a brow as I turn toward her. “I have a girl. Don’t need to look for another one.”
She rolls her eyes. “Come on, I’m being serious. You have to have the ladies hanging all over you.”
“Never put myself in a position where I would have them hanging all over me.”
She pauses, and then asks, “Really? Like no bars or clubs or online dating?”
“No.”
“So, what, you’re just…celibate?”
“Don’t you think this is a little personal?” I ask as she finishes the bite she just took.
“Probably,” she says with a shrug. “Just curious. I’ve been celibate for quite some time now, but that’s because I was in Peru.
I’m just surprised if that’s the case for you.
Or if it’s something that I have to work around, you know.
Just trying to see if there is anything I have to deal with on my end if you have… ladies you call upon.”
That gathers my attention as I wipe my mouth again. “You don’t have to worry about that when we’re together. I made a commitment to you, and I wouldn’t do something like that to embarrass you or jeopardize our setup.”
“Okay, I mean, if you need to, that’s fine—”
“I won’t,” I say, my voice firm.
“Are you sure?” She looks so uncertain.
“You have my word.”