AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thank you,” I tell her as I reach for my sandwich, ready to dive in.
“Wait,” Rueben says, stopping me before I can bring that first bite up to my watering mouth.
“What?”
“I think that this is a big moment, and maybe we should, you know, do it. Together.”
My mouth is suddenly Sahara dry as his words run naked through my mind. Naked, because all of a sudden, all I can think about is getting naked with my friend. You know,Do it. Together, as he said. “Ummm,” I finally spit out, not really sure where he’s going with this.
I watch as he grabs his own sandwich and brings it up to his mouth. “Ready? On three, okay?” he asks, and I nod, suddenly realizing what he was talking about doing together. “One, two, three…”
My taste buds explode as I take that first succulent bite of hot meat, tangy ketchup and barbecue sauce, and gooey cheese between a warm Kaiser bun. “This is heaven in my mouth,” I mumble over my food. When I glance across the table, I see Rueben chewing slowly and smiling. “What?” I ask.
He swallows and shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just happy that you’re enjoying it.”
“What can I say? Meatloaf sandwiches are all I need in life,” I say as I dip a fry in my ketchup.
“Well, maybe notallyou need in life.” He arches his eyebrow and pushes his glasses farther up his nose, and suddenly, it’smyface that’s blushing. I don’t know why. I’m sure he didn’t mean it sexually, yet that’s all I can think about. Apparently, my brain is so far in the gutter everything he says teeters that dirty innuendo line.
So, I decide to take the conversation a different direction. “Well, let’s not forget bubble baths.”
The way his eyes dilate and then darken, I don’t think my casual statement was taken as such. In fact, if the look on his face was any indication, I’d wager a bet to guess my dear friend here was actually thinking about that bubble bath…and maybe me in it.
Interesting.
When our eyes connect once more, he whispers, “Definitely bubble baths. We can never forget those.”
We eat in silence, both enjoying our food and watching the locals come in for a cup of coffee and a meal. A few offer greetings as they enter, occasionally stealing glances our way, as if to check out the out-of-towners.
When the check comes, Rueben grabs it before I have the chance. “Hey, I can get that,” I tell him, reaching for my purse to pull out a few bills.
“I got it,” he insists, sticking a twenty with the check and pushing it to the edge of the table. “My treat, remember?”
“Well, thank you. And I’ll get the tip.” I don’t leave any room for argument. I pull a ten from my billfold and slide it between the ketchup and mustard bottles.
After a quick stop at the restrooms, we’re out the door and back in the rental. Rueben pulls back onto the highway, next stop Carbondale. I find a classic rock station, one that I remember from my college days, and instantly smile as John Cougar Mellencamp pumps from the speakers. When I glance over, he appears at ease and comfortable behind the wheel. His long limbs cause him to push the seat back quite a bit, and I’m pretty sure if I were to try to drive right now, my feet wouldn’t even come close to the pedals. He casually taps his thumb against the steering wheel to the beat of the song and his plump lips move ever-so-slightly, as if singing along. His dark hair is cut shorter on the sides, and long enough on top to run your fingers through.
And those glasses? Well, I’ve never really found them on the sexy side before, but here I am, enjoying the hell out of how they look perched on Rueben’s straight nose.
Suddenly, the song changes. The familiar song starts to play, and I whip my head to look at the driver. His excited eyes lock on mine as he says, “Do it.”
I’m already shaking my head before he even says the second word. I know what he wants, and it’s not happening. “No way.”
“Come on, Crick. You have to do it! I dare you,” he says, glancing from the road back to me.
“You dare me? What are we twelve?” I scoff, crossing my arms and glancing out the windshield.
“No, we’re thirty-two and some change. If you want, I’m sure I could find a dart board at one of these bars and we could bet on it,” he says with a shrug.
I know where he’s going with this. Back in college, we made a friendly wager over a game of darts at our favorite pub. I was pretty good and cocky as hell, thinking there was no way my book-nerd friend was going to beat me. Apparently, I was wrong. It took him a few throws to find his the groove, but once he did, he started scoring more than me. It didn’t take long before I was losing the game, and basically my pride.
The wager, you ask?
I had to sing karaoke.
I fucking hate karaoke—not because I couldn’t carry a tune, because I could. I hate everyone watching me, judging me. I hate their drunken criticism because everyone knows they can sing better than the person with the microphone when there’s enough booze involved. And at that point in the night, there wasn’t enough booze flowing through my veins for my liking.
But I did it.
