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The guy working the counter was short and had his longish blond hair pulled up on his head in some sort of cross between a ponytail and a bun. He brightened at Jess with a smile that seemed a little more than just normal politeness as he asked, “What can I get started for you?”
When he leaned toward the glass that separated them, his smile not dimming in the slightest, I wanted to pick him up by the shirt collar and toss him across the room, just for the way he was looking at her.
“I like your man bun,” Jess said with a polite smile of her own.
Man bun? There was an actual fucking term for this dude’s hair? Man bun? Seriously? What kind of douche wears his hair in a man bun?
“Thanks. I like your dress.” The dude winked before scanning the length of Jess’s blue sundress, noting the way it clung to the curves of her breasts and her hips.
Furious, I cleared my throat, wanting to remind him that not only was I in the room, but I was standing right fucking next to the girl he was flirting with.
Man Bun shot me a murderous glare. “Be with you in a minute, bro.”
“That’s not why I was clearing my throat, and I’m not your bro,” I shot back, annoyed at his disrespectful behavior and a little confused by my violent reaction to it.
Jess looked at me with a crooked smile and nudged my shoulder with hers before she turned back to the man-bunned douchebag. “I’ll just take a turkey Swiss on sourdough with lettuce, pickles, and mustard.”
He made her sandwich slowly, methodically, as if he was making love to the damn thing, then had the nerve to throw in a bag of chips on the house. Man Bun was asking for a beat-down.
Jess took her wrapped sandwich and bag of chips and set them on our shared tray.
Man Bun made my sandwich with the hands of a man going to war, slamming the bread down hard enough to leave finger dents in it before stacking the ingredients haphazardly. I eyed him the entire time to make sure he didn’t include a side of spit. Lucky for him, he didn’t. And he didn’t toss in any free chips with my order either.
I reached for Jess’s bare shoulder as she stood next to me, wanting to show the douchebun that I was allowed to touch her and he wasn’t. Bread Boy needed to know who was in charge.
“Can you grab us a couple of drinks, Jess? I got this.” I reached for my wallet before she had a chance to protest.
“It’s okay. I can pay for mine,” she insisted.
She was adorable. I wanted to kiss her square on the lips for being so fucking cute.
“I got this,” I repeated as she tilted her head at me, obviously weighing her options. “I want to.” I pitched my voice at its most sincere, doing my best to calm whatever storm was currently raging behind her blue eyes. “Just grab me a Pepsi, please. And whatever you want.”
“You’re sure?” she asked one last time.
“I’m sure.”
She walked to the glass-front fridge as I attempted to pay for our stuff. I say attempted because I got distracted by the sight of Jess’s sundress rising up her thighs as she bent over to grab a drink from one of the lower shelves.
“It’s ten eighty-three, please.”
The cashier’s voice pulled my attention away from the gorgeous pair of legs for only a moment. But it was a moment too long because when I glanced back, Jess was already heading my way, two drinks in hand and a smile on her face.
“Hey, Nick, come here.”
A girl I’d dated briefly last year called to me as we crossed the crowded student union and I stopped, fully aware that my presence here would attract too much attention, too many questions, too many other people. It was how it had always been with me. I had information and knowledge that people wanted, so when they ran into me, they all wanted to pump me for it.
A game of questions was sure to follow. It’s what always happened.
What was going on this weekend? Did I had an in to the newest nightclub? Did I know the bouncer at that club in Hollywood? Were we throwing a party that weekend? It could be any number of things.
On any other day I wouldn’t have minded nearly as much, but not today. Today I wanted to get to know Jess, to see if we had anything in common.
My reputation preceded me, but I actually did have standards. My dating a lot of girls simply boiled down to not having found one good enough to stick around for. It wasn’t my fault. It was hard to find a decent match when you were in college and girls were looking for all the wrong things—a guy with money or a nice car, someone who had famous parents or something you could offer them. Yeah, it’s true, guys wanted all the wrong things too, like an easy lay or a pretty face. But I honestly tried to be better than that.
“Jess, we aren’t going to get any privacy in here. Will you go somewhere else with me?” I narrowed my eyes, willing her to say yes.
“Of course,” she responded easily.
