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“First the strawberry milkshake and now enough Taco Bell to feed a small army. That’s the Allie I remember.”
Her smile tips at the edge. She appreciated that comment, I know. It’d have to be hard not to be around people who really know you. I know her. Or I used to, anyway. The times when she acts like her old self, it’s easy to treat her like it.
I find a (sort of) clean table by the window and set our trays in the center. True to her word she unwraps each of her tacos and takes a bite, rating them as she goes. I eat my burrito, amused by her system.
“This is weird.” She dunks a chip into a side of guacamole.
“I’m sure guac from Taco Bell is another world from fresh California-made.”
“Not the guac. This.” She gestures between us. “We used to come here in high school. Only it looks different.”
We pause to look around at the brighter colors and splashy advertisements clinging to the windows.
“We went to a lot of places together,” I say. We went to damn near every restaurant and hangout in Columbus during the years we dated. She liked to go out and so did I, so unless we were in each other’s arms minus clothing, we were out.
“In high school this was considered a proper date. This isn’t a date,” she reminds me as the vision of us from before dissipates. She dunks a chip in bright yellow “cheese.”
“No,” I agree. “If this was a date I’d take you somewhere fancy.”
“Really?” One eyebrow curves in interest. “Like where?”
“Like Cooper’s. That’s where I took my last date.”
The chip hovers an inch from her open mouth, surprise coloring her features. Like maybe she’d hoped I stayed single the entire time she was dating Xavier McCormack. She pastes on a blasé expression and dredges the chip into the cheese container again. “A date at Cooper’s. How’d that go?”
I debate for two seconds lying and telling her Kim and I had a torrid affair. But for some reason I shrug and tell her the truth. “Eh. She was okay.”
“You don’t have to spare my feelings. How was she?”
“You mean in bed?”
“Gross.” She reaches for her cup and slurps a blue soft drink from the straw. Talk about gross.
“I didn’t go home with her,” I share, unsure why I’m sharing. Why the hell would I care if Allie believes I slept with Kim?
“You wouldn’t have to tell me if you did.” But her shoulders drop like she’s relieved to hear I didn’t.
“I know. I wouldn’t want to hear about you and”—I wave a hand, unable to say his name aloud—“whoever.”
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us before I pick up her potato taco, which she declared “mediocre,” and take a huge bite. Mid-chew I realize she was wrong.
“Mediocre is too high praise for this,” I say.
I earn a giggle and look over to find her taking a slow perusal of my face and then down to my chest. I pull a hand over my beard, hoping there’s no lettuce hanging from it.
“What’s wrong? Do I have food on my face?”
“No, you just…” An awkward shrug. “Look different than you used to.”
“Oh yeah? How so?” I’m fishing. That last glance held enough heat that I’m not letting it go without having her admit at least part of what she’s thinking.
“Your shoulders are broader.” Her voice is a sultry. “Your chest is wider.”
I grin. Told you it was heated.
“You don’t look thirty-one, but you act it.”
I frown.
