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“They did. I was headed to the dining hall.”
“Yuck,” he groans, his face twisting with disgust. “The food doesn’t have any flavor.”
I’m well aware how crappy the food is. I eat it every day, at least once. It’s also free for me, so I try not to think about it. It makes me look forward to nights like Taco Tuesday.
“It’s not that bad,” I lie. “Plus, it’s free. So …”
I let my voice trail off, hoping he’ll get the message that he needs to leave so I can go get dinner. My stomach has growled six times since I opened the door from the smell of his food.
“Have a seat, Lex,” he suggests before shoving another piece of bread in his mouth.
“Micah, I need to—”
“Please. Have a seat.”
Pushing the door closed, I remove my bag from my body, set it aside, and sit across from him on the floor. He’s set up his very own picnic in the middle of the room. Five different boxes and bowls of food separate us. And let’s not forget the bread.
“Look, I know why you have reservations. I get that it seems like you have more to lose than me, and maybe you do, but I don’t think that should stop us from hanging out. Even if just as friends. Or maybe friends with benefits. Whatever you prefer.”
“You came back here just to ask to be my friend?”
Not that I’m disappointed. It’s probably the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Even with him adding the part about benefits.
“No, I came back here to negotiate and because I wanted to have dinner with you. I knew you had to study and wouldn’t go out to dinner, so I brought it to you.” Picking up a pack of silverware, Micah places it in my hand, curling my fingers around it when I don’t grip it.
He brought me dinner. He didn’t try and distract me from studying. To make me feel bad for having other priorities.
“I want you to know I heard everything you said earlier,” he says, confirming my thoughts. “I get how important school is to you. That you have big goals. I would never want to get in the way of any of that. I also know I won’t be able to stay away from you, so I’m trying to find a happy medium for both of us.”
“And that means bringing me dinner?” I ask when he hands me a piece of bread.
It’s soft in the middle, crispy around the edge, just the way I like it. I can see the butter glistening on the top and sprinkles of seasoning. I want to shove the entire piece in my mouth the way Micah has—twice now—but I also don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of him.
“It does when you need to study. It also means showing up with coffee when I know you’re tired. Or giving you a massage when your neck hurts.”
“And what do you get out of all this?” Taking a bite of the bread, I resist the urge to close my eyes, but I can’t contain the soft moan that escapes.
“Well, I get to spend time with you,” Micah replies, clearing his throat as he shifts uncomfortably.
“If I’m studying, what will you be doing?”
“I can watch TV or just keep you company.”
“What else?” I ask, eying the pasta closest to Micah. He follows my line of sight, picking it up and handing it to me. I rip into my silverware, my stomach growling as I shovel the first bite in my mouth. Two bites later, I realize Micah never answered me. When I glance in his direction, he’s staring at my lips, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “You okay?”
“Uh huh.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I was just, um, thinking,” he says, averting his eyes.
“About?” I ask, slowly bringing the fork back to my lips when he looks in my direction again. I run my tongue up the back of the plastic tines, Micah’s eyes heating with lust as I clean every drop of sauce from the utensil.
“You have to stop doing that,” he pleads with me, his eyes still focused on my lips.
“And if I don’t?”
“I’m not going to be able to keep my hands to myself. You won’t get any studying done. This conversation will have been pointless.”
