“Dinner?”
“Yes, a meal you eat at the end of the day.”
“I know what dinner is. I just don’t do that,” she mumbles, looking adorable.
“You don’t eat dinner?” I ask, confused.
“No, I don’t do dinner with other people,” she replies.
“You don’t do dinner with other people?” I tilt my head to the side, watching her.
“Like…date—I don’t date,” she huffs out, crossing her arms over her chest, which only accentuates it. My eyes are drawn there, and she immediately lowers her arms to her sides.
“It’s not a date. It’s dinner.”
“I know…you said that.”
“So what would you like to eat on our non-date dinner?” I ask, taking a step towards her, the smell of apples and cinnamon growing stronger the closer I get.
“Nothing. We’re not having dinner together.”
“What time do you get off work?”
“Six—I mean, I don’t know.” She chews her lower lip, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink.
“All right, so no dinner then.” I shrug. “Can I get your number?”
She shakes her head no, her cheeks growing even darker. Fuck me, she’s cute. “Sorry,” she whispers, looking away.
For some reason, alarm bells start going off in my head. “It’s all good.” I beat back the urge to touch her, my mind warring with my body. I watch her for a second and then start to come up with a plan.
“I have to get back to work,” she says, looking at the floor.
“All right, sweet Sophie. I’ll see you around.”
“Bye, Nico,” she says softly.
I turn after giving her a chin lift, my chest feeling tight at the sound of my name leaving her mouth. After getting my ID back from Sue and signing out, I leave the school knowing that this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 2
For the second day in a row, I’m waiting outside the school. It’s 6:02 when the door opens and Sophie comes walking out. Each time I see her, she looks even more beautiful than before. I watch her expression go from surprise to shy happiness as she spots me standing next to my car…just like yesterday.
Yesterday when I left her in the library, I went to the grocery store, bought a pint of Phish Food ice cream and a set of plastic spoons, and took it back to the school, where I waited for her to get off work. She said she didn’t do dinner; she never said anything about dessert. When she saw me standing there with the frozen treat, she said that she really shouldn’t, but I told her that it wasn’t a date and I was just meeting her after school for ice cream. Then I explained how my fragile ego couldn’t bear her denying me her company, making her laugh lightly and give in. We stood outside her car for an hour with a pint of ice cream between us. She was shy but also cute and funny.
Now, I watch as she gets closer and closer, her eyes looking me over then landing on my hand. Today, I stopped at the gas station and got two ice cream cookies. She told me yesterday these are her favorite. I hold one out to her, and she smiles as she shakes her head, making my heart beat a little faster. Yes, I know I’m a fucking pussy, but I couldn’t give a fuck.
“What are you doing here”—she pauses—“again?” she asks, taking the ice cream from my hand and unwrapping it.
“Someone told me you like these.”
“Someone has a big mouth,” she says, taking a bite out of the giant frozen cookie.
“She does,” I agree, looking at her mouth.
She laughs and smacks me on the chest. She covers her mouth with her hand, chewing while holding up one finger. “What are you really doing here?” she asks after she swallows.
“Just in the neighborhood.” I shrug and take a bite of my cookie before immediately spitting it on the ground.
“Hey! What the hell?” she asks, offended, grabbing the rest of the cookie out of my hand.
“That tastes like shit.” I wipe my mouth before reaching into my car for a bottle of water.
“No, it doesn’t,” she defends with an exasperated look on her face.
“Baby, it tastes like cardboard,” I tell her, watching as her face goes soft at my endearment.
“Well, I guess I like eating cardboard then.”
I shake my head, looking at her smile. “So are you working tomorrow?” I ask her, leaning against my car.
She finishes off her cookie, and mine is halfway to her mouth when she answers, “Yes, but tomorrow I work from home.” She puts her bag on top of my car, leans her side against the door, and takes another bite of her ice cream.
I watch her movements, noticing that everything is so fluid and graceful. The urge to touch her is so overwhelming I have to cross my arms over my chest to keep myself in check.