One Week Girlfriend(33)

I set the sandwich on my plate, completely transfixed. It’s ridiculous, my reaction to her. Doesn’t help that I’m horny as hell and everything she does seems to turn me on.

But she’s really enjoying that salad. Her eyes are half-closed and she’s wearing this dreamy expression. She licks her lips, the sight of her pink tongue doing me in and I swallow hard, my appetite for food suddenly gone.

My appetite for Fable comes roaring to life instead.

“This is amazing. Like, the best dressing I’ve ever tasted.” She looks at me, her delicate brows bunched. “Are you okay? I thought you were hungry?”

“Uhh…” Busted.

“You’re not eating. You don’t like it?” Her concern is sweet, but this has nothing to do with a freaking sandwich and everything to do with her. How much I want her.

And I want her pretty damn bad.

For once, I’m ready to just go with this and not worry about the consequences. We’re attracted to each other. She won’t have any expectations, and neither do I. My turbulent past can be pushed away and replaced—at least temporarily—with new memories I can make here with Fable.

“The sandwich’s good.” I take another bite to prove it and she smiles her approval before she starts back in on her salad.

It hits me then that we’re on a lunch date. I’m the most pathetic twenty-one-year old guy alive. I play football, I get good grades in college, I have girls dying to go out with me, and I’ve never really taken a girl on a date. Have no idea how to be in a relationship. My past has turned me off of all that stuff and I’ve let it rule me for far too long.

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” Fable says after she takes a drink of her iced tea. “Does your family have a big get together or what?”

“Not really.” Well, we haven’t since my sister Vanessa died, but I’m not going there. Too heavy of a topic today. “The last few years we’ve gone on vacation during Thanksgiving.”

“How fun.” Her smile is sweet but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s just saying that because she thinks I expect her to. She sees how fucked up we all are.

She’s the first person who’s figured that out.

“Besides, most of my dad’s family is on the east coast. My dad is from New York originally,” I continue.

“Really?” She wipes her mouth with a white cloth napkin, then drops it into her lap. My gaze settles on her lips. They’re plump, a pretty shade of pink and I’m dying to taste them again.

It’s like I woke up this morning with sex on the brain. Pretty accurate, considering the morning wood I was sporting. I’d dreamed of her, misty, out of focus images of the two of us tangled in the sheets. She’s consuming me and I’m letting it happen. Reveling in it, really.

“Yeah. My mom was from there, too.” I frown. I don’t want to think about her either.

“Have you gone back and visited?”

“Not in years, but yeah. My grandparents live in a walkup in Brooklyn. It’s a totally different way of life there.” I’d like to go back. My grandma and grandpa are still alive but they’re old and they might not be around much longer.

But they don’t really like Adele so we didn’t go see them much.

“I’d love to go there sometime.” She sighs wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to see New York City.”

“It’s an experience, that’s for sure.” I wish I could take her. Totally presumptive of me but I’m compelled with the need to make her happy. Show her stuff that I know her life won’t allow her to see.

“Tell me something,” I say when we’re finished eating and waiting for the waitress to bring us the check.

“What do you want to know?” Wariness flits in her eyes and it calls to me. We’re more alike than I ever thought and I find that reassuring.

“How did you get your name?” When she frowns, I continue. “Fable. You have to admit, it’s pretty unusual.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turn pink, like she’s embarrassed, and she drops her gaze to the table. “My mom. She’s…different. When I was born, she took one look at me and declared me a wise soul. Supposedly she knew without hesitation I’d have many stories to tell. At least, that’s what she told me when I was around five. My grandma said the same.”

“A wise soul, huh?” I study her and those big, fathomless green eyes are looking right back. She does seem so much more mature than other girls I know our age. She’s dealt with a lot more too. It’s like she takes care of everyone. So who takes care of Fable? “Do you have a lot of stories to tell?”