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I won’t tell him it took me three hours to put together the outfit or that I still wasn’t quite convinced about it when I left the dorm. But now I feel like I’m wearing a million bucks. In reality, it’s just a black body suit that shows off what my momma gave me, blue skinny jeans, and combat boots I borrowed from Lynn.
“Ready?” I ask when he pockets our locker key.
“Absolutely not. Let’s go.” Something’s off with his voice. It’s too deep and a little choked. I take it as a good sign.
Our hands find each other like there’s a magnetic force pulling them together. Earlier in the week during class, we spent the whole period holding hands under our desks. Once during training, we bumped into each other in front of the water coolers, and while no one was watching, we linked our pinkies together.
Tonight is about being all over each other without the fear of someone watching. That’s why I proposed this place for our official first date. It’s a former high school that has been turned into an entertainment center. Every room has different games, from dartboards to billiard tables to bowling to escape rooms, an arcade, and even axe throwing. With the fee we paid at the entrance, we can play in as many rooms as we want. There’s also a restaurant and a bar, and while we can’t buy alcohol, I don’t think we’ll need it to have fun.
“Wow, how did you find this place?” His eyes twinkle as he takes a look around. We’re only in the lobby. There are game rooms to the left, and a bar and restaurant to the right. Every area is teeming with people, and the music is some alternative stuff that gives a chill atmosphere.
I shrug in a show of exaggerated modesty. “You’d be surprised what you can find on Google.”
“I’ll have to step it up for our next date, huh?” Ugh, I love his smile. How can an expression be so cute and sexy at the same time? “So, where do we start?”
“Bathroom for me first,” I blurt out. Before he’s able to respond, I say, “Be right back!”
I all but dash into the women’s restroom located between the bar and the restaurant. After taking care of my nervous need to relieve myself, I’m washing my hands when two girls walk in.
“—will give him my number,” one of them says.
The other one moans, and her body droops a notch. “Ugh, like, I cannot believe how hot he is. Too bad I just got a new boyfriend!”
They take the sinks on either side of mine. Both are absolute knockouts, and the first one is the kind of girl most guys go for. Tall, skinny, big curves in all the right places, and leggy. She tosses her blond hair over her shoulder and adjusts her boobs so her cleavage is on display.
“Lucky me,” she says. “I bet tall, dark, and handsome at the bar won’t be able to resist me.”
“Get it, girl.” Her friend laughs. She has a very similar appearance. Pretty girls flock together.
I finish washing my hands and sidestep the second girl to grab paper towels. From the corner of my eye, I see them redo their lipstick and primp themselves some more. Then I check myself in the mirror.
Yeah, so I’m shorter than either of them. My skin’s several shades darker. And my hair is the opposite of golden. But I have plenty of curves, and my outfit tonight is absolute fire. There’s no reason I should feel jealous of some random girls who may or may not be talking about my guy. Right?
I wink at my reflection and leave the restroom. If anything, the pit stop ignited my competitive spirit. The more time I spend holed up here, the less time I’ll have to seduce Max.
I spot him at the bar, which raises my suspicions that the bathroom girls were talking about him. Two glass bottles sit at the bar in front of him, capped, as if he’s waiting for me to return to open them. He often does little things like that to make me feel safe. It’s why he’s a S’more.
Like some fangirl who doesn’t dare to approach him, I stand and stare at him for a while. The girls walk out of the restroom and straight to Max. I have to do a double take to confirm that, sure enough, the pretty girl is trying to chat him up.
Max’s body language screams uncomfortable. He shakes his head and puts his hands up like a barrier, and still the girl tries to touch his shoulder. I want to save him, but will it look bad if I jump in? I’m pretty sure my dad said jealous women are called cuaimas in Venezuela.
To cuaima, or not to cuaima?
But then his eyes find mine, and the plea is unmistakable. To cuaima.
“Here we go.” I put on my best strut. The two girls turn around, and it takes them a while to really see me. I don’t even have to think too hard about what to do when I reach him. Max slides me up against his side, his arm around me and a hand on my hip just the way he likes.
“I do have a girlfriend,” he says in a way that makes me think he tried to explain it already. He glances down at me. “Isn’t that right?”
And then it clicks. If this is his way of asking me to be his girlfriend, I’m all aboard the Massimo Express.
I wrap my arms around his waist. “That’s right, boyfriend.”
“Ugh.” The girl taps her friend and says, “Let’s just go.”
They look embarrassed, but there’s really no reason. It takes some big ovaries to shoot your shot with a guy. Something I never really tried to do until Max came along.
I look back up at him. Thank heaven I realized he was too precious to pass up before someone else snapped him up.
