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“Oh my God, it’s still here!” Cricket proclaims happily as I pull into the lot and park. There’re only a few cars now, but I know as we approach dinnertime shortly, the café will fill up with locals.
The moment I shut down the vehicle, Cricket jumps out and throws her hands in the air. She’s stretching, twisting from side to side and working out the stiff and tight muscles that plague her body from hours of air and vehicle travel. What I notice is the way her shirt rides up, giving me a peek of smooth, creamy flesh and the cutest little belly button. The problem I had in my pants earlier starts to transpire once more, and I have to look away to keep from getting a full-blown hard-on in the middle of the parking lot, while lusting after my friend and picturing all the dirty things I want to do to her.
Hopping out of the SUV, I take a second to stretch myself and meet her in front of the car. She’s practically vibrating with excitement as she reaches for my hand and pulls me toward the front door. Her hand is warm and soft in mine, and it’s hard to ignore the zaps of electricity that zip through my blood.
Cricket grabs the door, but I quickly take the handle and pull, all while her other hand is still nestled securely within mine. It feels good—too good, to be honest—yet, I still don’t drop said hand, even when we approach an empty table.
A smiling older woman approaches the table and delivers two menus. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’ll take an ice water, no lemon,” Cricket orders.
“Same,” I add when the woman turns her hazel eyes my way.
“I’ll go grab those and give ya a minute to look over the menu.”
Cricket quickly opens the menu, scanning for the one entrée I know she’s after. “Yes! They still have it,” she whispers with glee, her green eyes sparkling like emeralds under the sun.
I don’t even bother opening my menu. Instead, I set it aside and wait for our waitress to return for our order. “Then I know what I’m having.”
The moment the older lady returns, Cricket practically blurts out her order. “I’ll have the meatloaf sandwich.”
“And I’ll have the same, please,” I add. The waitress smiles knowingly as she writes down our order and heads toward the kitchen.
“Do you remember when we found this place?” she asks, glancing around at the familiar décor. It’s hard to believe, it was nearly eleven years ago when we found this little hole in the wall café that serves the best meatloaf sandwiches in the world.
“Of course, I do. No meatloaf sandwich has ever lived up to this place,” I confirm, taking a sip of my ice water.
“Very true,” she confirms. Cricket glances down at the table as she adds, “I remember Danny being a total diva that day. He almost missed his flight.”
I snort as the memory comes back. “I was five seconds away from throwing his ass out of my car, onto the road.”
“But then that security guard would have seen. You remember him, right? The one who made us drive around until Danny was ready to get out for his departure.”
“That rent-a-cop had a serious hard-on for his badge that day,” I recall, smiling as I picture that young guy who loved to show is authority to those dropping off at the departures entrance.
“I believe you asked him if it was his first day on the job,” she giggles that familiar laugh that sends my blood pumping through my veins.
“He was quoting the rule book.”
Cricket laughs. Hard. “That he did. And Danny was being a total wanker, not wanting to get out until he was ready.” She shakes her head. “It was a much better ride back home than it was taking him to the airport.”
I nod, recalling how comfortable we were after dropping Danny off. Two friends talking and enjoying each other’s company for a two-hour road trip. My roommate was on his way to the east coast for a long weekend with his family. It was a long-ass drive there, considering Danny did everything he could to pick a fight with Cricket, and then dragged his feet when we finally arrived.
Afterward, Cricket and I got hungry and stumbled upon this little café. We were able to come back once more, senior year, and brought Danny with us. He complained about the hour-long drive to get there, the small menu, and then made gagging noises when our meatloaf sandwiches arrived. The jerk basically ruined our meal and the experience of returning to the little restaurant.
Cricket is lost in thought when I glance her way; most likely remembering the ordeal that surrounded our last visit here. When her eyes connect with mine, she lifts her water glass and holds it up. “To making new memories.”
Reaching for my glass, I clink it against hers. “To making new memories.” Then I chug a little bit of water, the ice-cold liquid sliding down my throat and cooling my overheated body.
So far, that toast is proving very true.
Chapter Three
Cricket
I take a sip of my water and swear I see the hint of a blush through his dark stubbled cheeks. Rueben averts his eyes for a moment, but when they lock back on mine, something shifts in the open room. The air thickens with a sexual awareness, and I’m not really sure what to do with it. Thankfully, our food is delivered at that moment and I’m saved from any unfamiliar, and slightly uncomfortable, feelings that have decided to rear their heads since landing in St. Louis and reconnecting with Rueben.
“Two meatloaf sandwiches for you,” the waitress says as she slides two piping hot plates on our table.
