I’m saved from answering when the waitress appears with our two big mugs of coffee. Matt shoves his aside and places his order for fries and dip—Crowerly’s version of it, at least—and a glass of water. The water appears moments later, as if the waitress can’t stand being away from him for even a second.
“I’m busy tomorrow night. I have mock trial practice.”
“Nice. I like that. A real excuse. It helps soothe the sting.” He rubs his chest in mock pain, and I have to force myself not to stare at how well defined his muscles appear even under his T-shirt.
You don’t like muscles, I remind myself.
“Let’s go back to this no-dirty-talking experience. What kind of guys are you dating?”
“Nice ones.”
“I’m a nice guy, and I love a little dirty talk. If you sat on my lap right now, I might say something like ‘I’ve been waiting all day to have your ass in my hands,’ and you could reply with ‘Matty, you’re so big.’” His falsetto brings a reluctant smile to my face. “I like big, hot, strong as adjectives. Just an FYI. And then I’d pull you closer so I could nuzzle your neck and say—”
The bell tinkles as the restaurant door opens and four girls walk in. I grab Matty’s water and gulp it down. His little tame sampler of dirty talk made me uncomfortably warm. This is exactly why I don’t date guys like him. I’d have to take an extra glucose shot every day just to keep up.
The girls must have spotted Matt because they bypass three open tables to walk by ours. As they pass, there’s a contest of who can flip her hair over her shoulder the hardest. I swear the last two eyefuck him so hard, it’s a wonder they make it to their own table upright.
To his credit, he’s more interested in the yogurt and tofu the waitress delivered.
“This is tofu?” he asks enthusiastically between giant bites. It only takes two for the entire thing to disappear into his mouth. He wipes off his mouth before telling me, “Tom Brady eats a lot of vegan dishes during the season. Says it keeps him healthy. I should try more of this stuff. I didn’t realize it tasted so good.”
I’m partly relieved the food has distracted him from his discourse on dirty talking but also partly disappointed. He’s...well, dammit, fun to talk to. Ugh. Why? Why can’t I smoosh Keith and Matt together? Matty’s personality with Keith’s safe and quiet attractiveness?
I eat my soup, which somehow tastes better than it ever has before, and I know it’s not because there’s a new chef. It’s because I’m enjoying myself so much.
He eats all but two of the fries and pushes the plate toward my side of the table. “Let’s trade. I want to see if I like squash soup because it sounds disgusting and looks a little like the pureed carrot shit I had to eat as a baby.”
We exchange dishes, but I don’t eat anything. Instead I watch as he uses my spoon to taste the soup. He pulls the spoon from his mouth with a pop, and I swear my entire body starts tingling. “Mmm. Good. A little spice and a little sweet. Don’t know how much of that is you and how much is the soup, though.”
This is like foreplay. I’m going to have to douse myself in a glass of water. Under the table, I squeeze my thighs together, but that movement only serves to remind me how little action I’ve seen downstairs. Between him licking the spoon and telling me he wants to taste me, I’m more turned on than I can ever remember being. Which really, really sucks. “Why are you flirting with me?”
He gives me a look that says I can’t be that dumb, but apparently I am. I blame it on him. “Because you’re smoking hot and I’d like a taste of you directly from the tap.” He sets my spoon down. “The better question is, why won’t you go out with me? I’m not bragging because there’s something between us.”
“Where do I start?”
He laughs. He actually laughs at that. “Geez, you have that many. Hold up for a sec. Need to put my big boy pants on.”
I roll my eyes. “How about you answer a question of mine?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Why are you trying so hard?”
“Honestly? Because it’s fun.”
I raise a brow in pretend confusion, but I know exactly what he means. “Fun?”
Cheerfully, he eats more soup, still using my spoon, before answering. “Haven’t had to try this hard in ages. Again, not bragging. It’s just the truth. I don’t need to work for it anymore. Girls come to me.”
“Right, you’re so not bragging.”
“I’m not.” He shrugs. That’s just how it is.” He pauses. “I play football.”
“I know.” His eyes light up, and I know what he’s thinking. I hold up my hand. “I didn’t ask around about you. I recognized you after you left last night. Why didn’t you tell me you played football?
“It didn’t seem important.”
“Bullshit. Being a Western State Warrior is a big deal on campus. Girls fall all over themselves to be with you.”
“Sure, but is that what kind of guy you think I am? Or maybe the better question is whether you’re the type of girl who’s impressed by that? Because I don’t see it.” He arches an eyebrow.
He’s got me there. “I’m not impressed by that stuff. It’s the other way around, actually.”
For the first time tonight, he frowns. “That’s why you won’t go out with me?”