19. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Leon Aldon
Well, fuck, tonight just got a lot more exciting, for sure.
I assumed Maeve would stay in tonight, enjoy her cake, watch a horror movie, and go to bed early.
Boy, was I wrong.
She and a handful of other girls and that male roommate all came out of their apartment dressed to party, and let me tell you, my girl looks damn good.
She has on a beautiful knee-length white lace dress with spaghetti straps and a “V” shaped neckline that goes past her sternum, a pair of sandals that tie around her ankles with thin brown leather straps, and for once, her hair is down.
She looks heavenly.
Her gorgeous brown hair is in thick and full waves with only a few small pieces braided to keep everything out of her face, and I can't stop picturing myself wrapping her hair around my fist and using it like a bull rope while I fuck her into next week.
Or maybe those goofy ass space buns that I could use like handlebars while I fuck her throat until she's drooling and begging for mercy.
I have to shake these thoughts out of my head before I drag this fucking goddess into the bathroom at whatever bar they're going to, but the sight of my girl with mascara streaming down her face and my cock in the back of her throat is now branded in my mind forever.
You know, watching these girls pile into a few different cars is making me wonder why Maeve is the outcast of the group.
She's clearly the hottest one!
All Carlie has that Maeve doesn't is the tits, but Maeve has the ass.
She has a nice thick ass that I want to dig my teeth into until there are marks on her skin forever.
Fuck, now I really am a pervert with a boner watching a group of college girls go off to party.
Fantastic.
I watch as these girls stare at Maeve; I see them whispering to each other while she ignores them altogether. I think they're jealous.
I see how everyone on campus stares at her; I see how people gravitate toward her so naturally and that her timid demeanor and her loud ass friends are all that keep them away.
Everyone can see and sense how incredible she is; they just don't like it.
It's sad, really. It’s embarrassing for them that they feel they have to dim my Maeve to make themselves look better.
They're not wrong; they could never shine and stand out with my girl beside them, but I could never do the same.
I could never dim my beautiful girl. She's a light that the world deserves to see.
She not only deserves to be admired, but I deserve to show off that I'm with the hottest woman in Texas.
When everyone is piled in their row of cars, and they take off toward wherever I'm about to spend my night, I follow a few car lengths behind.
I follow each twist and turn as they go, landing us at some Mexican-American style restaurant.
You know the type, the ones that aren't at all authentic, but they are delicious.
What I can't figure out is why we're here. Nothing at this place is suitable for my Maeve.
I've been here before; not a single item on the menu is without cheese, meat, grains, or lard.
Nothing my girl ever eats.
I could tell myself that her friends have taken her diet into consideration, but I know they're too careless and shallow to have bothered.
That worries me, how is ma petite fleur supposed to enjoy her night if she can't eat?
When the entire group is seated, I ask the host to sit me somewhere far enough away that they won't notice me but close enough that I can see my girl.
She's placed at the end of the long table, facing everyone else who's grouped off into little sub-groups of their gathering.
They all seem to be lost in their own conversations, which makes me wonder if Maeve is sat at the end simply because she's the birthday girl or if it's because nobody else is willing to sit next to her and be the ugly friend.
My money is on the latter.
Honestly, I don't see what she sees in these so-called friends; they're not even talking to her.
They're letting her sit at the end and basically fiddle with her fingers like a neglected step-child.
When the whole group orders a couple of pitchers of margaritas, Maeve orders some yellow soda in a glass bottle.
Whatever it is, it's sealed, and yet she still wipes the top of it with a napkin.
I don't think she trusts this place; she even has her own bottle of water that she pulls out of her bag after talking to the waiter about it.
My girl is always so considerate.
It's just one of the many things that I love and admire about her.
Maeve's whole group ends up tipsy pretty quickly while she quietly snacks on the tortilla chips that she brought from home and a small bowl of salsa that the waiter brought explicitly for her.
That is until the guy in the group dips one of his chips into her salsa when he leans over to talk to her.
She fakes a smile, one that makes me want to jump up and slam this guy's head on the table, but nobody else seems to notice how fake it is.
After that, she abandons her salsa and opts to eat her chips plain while the rest of the group blissfully eats the food they've ordered.
Everyone has burritos, rice, beans, queso, and all kinds of variety, but not my girl.
I flag the waiter down and quietly ask him why she hasn't ordered a meal.
While I can tell that he doesn't want to answer me, he eventually does anyway after I give him a little pressure. "The kitchen staff could not guarantee anything was gluten-free aside from the house-made pico, even that wasn't promised unless we made a batch just for her since the vinegar we usually use is processed in a facility that is not gluten-free. Normally, they wouldn't make a single serving of pico at all, but that young girl is so nice that even the head chef insisted we do it." He explains.
I let out a rough sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose.
My girl is really this picky and so into the whole gluten-free fad that she's willing to starve for it.
While I may not get it, I'm not going to judge her for it.
I just wish that her so-called friends had cared enough about her to have picked a place where she could actually eat.
If she had been with me, we would have gone to a wonderful restaurant that could accommodate her. I would have rented the whole place out and made sure she had a fantastic dinner, one she didn't have to bring from home.
I would have treated her to the nicest wines and the best service before demanding the staff leave us so I could enjoy my dessert, her, in peace.
Maeve's group sits there for hours, talking, laughing, and drinking.
I guess I can't complain. The food is good, and it gives me the chance to read through my emails and write out a few patient notes while she enjoys herself.
Except she looks miserable.
Every time I look at ma petite fleur, she looks like she wants to leave, and nobody around her seems to notice.
Finally, after what feels like hours, a few girls get up and stumble their way toward me on their way to the bathroom.
They have to hold each other up and get lost on the way, but I don't miss them loudly talking amongst themselves about the group's plan for tonight.
Apparently, everyone is going to slowly clear out a few at a time until Maeve is left sitting alone to pay for the entire group's tab.
My girl is already cutting a close budget, and she didn't eat a single thing other than the free pico that comes with stepping foot in this place. Yet they want to stick her with the entire bill from all 12 people here?
They've all been drinking, and they all had full meals and desserts, but they want to stick my girl with the bill?
Fuck that.
I flag down the waiter with a frustrated sigh. I hate this, but I can't let her get stuck with the bill, and I can’t let her find out about their plan; it will crush her. "That entire table is on my tab." I tell him with an annoyed huff as I hand him my credit card.
"Make up some lie. I don't care what it is; just do not point me out. 1,000th customer? Birthday special? An anonymous patron wanted to treat them. Whatever." I say, waving my hand for him to ring up their table.
I listen in as the waiter excitedly tells the table, which has now dwindled down to four, that their bill has been covered by an anonymous patron.
Everyone cheers and claps, darting out the door a moment later without even bothering to wait for Maeve.
I wonder if they'll try to leave without her or if they'll actually wait…
Either way, she doesn't seem to move until everyone leaves. She just sits quietly while everyone clears out until only she and the waiter are left at the table; that's when she quietly speaks to him and starts digging through her purse until she pulls out a crumbled-up $20.
The waiter thankfully refuses, pushing her hand away and shaking his head, but she doesn't stop trying. She even leaves the bill on the table after he walks away with a stack full of dishes in his hands.
I know how tight her budget is, so I know that is probably all the money she had.
My beautiful, selfless girl.
She looks around the table with a slightly heartbroken expression, seeing that everyone left without her and that nobody had bothered to tip.
Yep, it's official, I hate Maeve's friends.
They're not good enough to be graced with her presence.
She makes a quick scan of the restaurant when she stands up. I assume she's hoping someone will smile, nod, or in some way acknowledge that they paid the tab, but I hide my face behind my menu when she makes her way to my little corner of the dining room.
I don't want credit or acknowledgment for managing to surpass the very low bar that her friends have set.
When nobody acknowledges her glance, she quickly leaves the restaurant without a word, and I follow closely behind.
I think it surprises her and I both when one car stays behind to wait for her, the one driven by her roommate is sitting at the curb.
While I'm glad they didn't ditch her, part of me is ready to go home, but I'm not ditching my girl on her birthday.
On to the next stop, I guess.