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I had never been so turned on by everyday bath products in my life.
The student center movie theater is a pretty nice one, though they play an odd assortment of films. Foreign movies, independent movies, artsy movies, gay and lesbian movies, old movies – if you’ve never seen it, the UGA student union movie theater has probably shown it. They occasionally show crowd-pleasers, and apparently Eastern Promises was one of them… although it fit comfortably into the ‘independent’ category, as well.
It was awesome. Dark and brutal and sad in places, but romantic and awesome overall.
Viggo Mortenson’s ass wasn’t half bad, either.
Although it paled in comparison to Derek Kane’s… which I hadn’t even seen naked yet.
And I’m never, ever GOING to, I told myself firmly as I walked out of the movie theater, trying to keep my eyes off his rear end.
“You hungry?” he asked me as we walked out into the purple-skied dusk.
I was, but I was going to say ‘no.’ We’d gone to see a movie; that was halfway innocent. But dinner and a movie was a bridge too far.
Only problem was, I didn’t speak up fast enough.
“I thought we could grab a bite to eat and talk about it,” he said. “I always like doing that with friends – going to see movies and talking about them afterward.”
Oh.
Well… if he did that all the time with friends…
I had a stray thought that maybe those ‘friends’ were girls he never called back again, but I pushed it out of my head.
“I could eat something,” I said, and felt horribly guilty as soon as the words came out of my mouth.
19
We went to a gyro place on Main Street, directly across from the college. The place is the rattiest restaurant ever, with decades’ worth of greasy smoke layering the walls. The tables are rickety and never clean, and the place has a scary-ass health rating.
But their gyro’s are awesome, with giant shanks of mouthwatering lamb roasting near the door as you walk in. And the feta cheese sauce they put on the pitas is to die for. And the prices are reasonable, so of course it’s insanely popular with college students.
We waited in line and then ordered. What was interesting was that all the guys working behind the counter knew who Derek was, and shouted out as soon as they saw him walk in.
“What up, bro!”
“Hey man, how’s it hangin’?”
“Yo, D!”
They were all alternative-looking guys, most with scruffy goatees and shaggy hair (which might have factored into the low health score posted in the window). I have no doubt in my mind that they were either in bands, or liked going out to see them.
The only girl working was a waitress, and she looked at Derek, too – but with love-smitten puppy-dog eyes.
I reminded myself not to look like her, ever.
We ordered at the register, but before I could get out my purse, Derek paid.
“I can get my own,” I protested.
“You paid for the movie tickets.”
“Yeah, because I get the student discount. And they were only four bucks apiece.”
“That’s still eight bucks. I got this.”
My guilt was beginning to get the better of me.
Southern guys always pay on dates. If they don’t pay, it’s not a date; it’s a clear ‘we’re only friends, and I’m not looking for more’ message. Or it was a massive faux pas, because it meant the guy was cheap.
Or, I supposed, the guy could just be flat broke… but in that case, it was better to hang out and watch a DVD instead of embarrass yourself.
Even though Derek didn’t have the slightest hint of a Southern accent, he was paying. And if he paid, this was so not just ‘talking about the movie over a gyro’ anymore.
“I really should pay for mine,” I insisted.
He gave me a knowing grin. “Ohhhh, you’re a feminist, huh?”
“What?” I said, taken aback. “Yeah, kind of – so?”
“You can get the tip,” he said, waving me off.
“That’s only 15 percent!”
“Tip more, then,” said the shaggy dude behind the register.
“Yeah, tip more, then,” Derek grinned. He gave his buddy a Laters head nod and then walked towards the seating area.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath as I followed behind him, trying so hard not to look at that perfect ass in front of me.
“Look, I need to pay you,” I said as I caught up to him.
He gave me a look like I was quite clearly insane. “I got it covered.”
“I know that, but I need to pay for my food.”
“Why?” he asked, exasperated.
“Because if you pay, it’s a date. And I can’t go out on a date with you, because I have a boyfriend. And that’s why I need to pay for my food.”
