“Anything else ma’am?” The kid asks and I practically choke on my saliva.
Rob’s head rears back and a howl of laughter expels from him. “Yes, is that all, ma’am?” he repeats and I narrow my eyes to him, digging in my pocket for some cash.
“Strawberry shake,” he orders and then his eyes bore into mine. “Extra whipped cream.”
When I go to hand the money to the kid, Rob’s hand covers mine and pushes it back toward me.
“No, I got this. You made dinner,” I argue and he shakes his head.
“You college students need to keep your money. I got this covered.” He nods to the kid to grab his money.
Once the exchange is complete, I place my hand on his forearm. “Thank you.”
“Do you not like whipped cream?” I’m surprised he didn’t ask this question immediately after I ordered.
“No.” We meander to our seats in the corner, sectioning off ourselves from the other patrons.
“That’s a killer.” I sit down and pick a cherry, biting it off the stem.
“I know I know, how could I not like it.” I’ve heard the jokes my whole life, or worse a sexual reference will sneak into the conversation now.
“I guess I’ll have to think about something else for you to lick off my body.” He chuckles.
“Obviously, you enjoy it.” I point to his milkshake with a dollop of whipped cream sneaking out of the top. “So, you must get hard when you watch Varsity Blues and the cheerleader sports the whipped cream bikini.”
“Want to watch and see?” He raises his eyebrows a few times fast and my stomach flips.
“You find the movie and I’ll watch it with you a seat cushion away.”
“Oh, you sure have that hard to get role nailed.” His lips cover the straw and he sucks in the cold pink fluid. Briefly I imagine his lips around my peaked nipple and the sensations his tongue would stir inside of me.
“We already talked about this. No dating or hooking up. We’re roommates, remember?” I remind him of our earlier conversation.
“We could be roommates that fuck. I’m sure we wouldn’t be the first.” He cracks a smile and I still struggle to master when he’s joking, or serious.
“I think we’ll make really good friends,” I counter and he falls back into his chair, completely exasperated from my consistent decline of his seduction tactics.
“Friend-zoned. That’s the kiss of death for every guy.” Then he props his elbows on the table. “But I’ll take what I can get.”
We sit at the table and I watch the small kids whine to their parents while Rob’s eyes float across the ice cream shop. I pinpoint the exact moment I lose his attention. A blonde saunters in, with her skirt so short her ass cheeks are hanging out. She flips her hair like some eighties shampoo commercial and catches Rob’s eyes glued on her. His focus makes her swing her ass more than before and I swear she purposely drops her keys on the ground just so she can bend over.
“Well she doesn’t desire attention does she?” I glance down at my pajama pants and flip flops, suddenly self-conscious about my attire.
He glances my way. “Oh don’t worry, you naturally catch a guy’s attention, friend.” A part of me wishes he’s staring at the girl because he wants me to be jealous, but I’m not convinced that’s the reason for his unwavering eyes on her. “You don’t mind if I go over there, do you?” he asks, and even though I want to dump my ice cream sundae over his head, I smile.
“Not at all.” He deserts his milkshake on the table as he swaggers over to the blonde currently in front of the refrigerator case perusing the milk and ice cream.
Pulling out my phone to act as though I couldn’t care less that Rob is probably asking little Miss Bimbo on a date, I’m unable to stop myself from glancing their way. She paws at his biceps, her fingers grazing along his tattoos. His black T-shirt fits tight along his shoulders, displaying the lean muscles I’ve been admiring. He tucks his hands in his pockets as he leans against the case. My reaction to the whole unfolding scene in front of me isn’t anger, but definitely not indifference either.
When he grabs his phone out of his pocket, typing something, she giggles and flips her hair again before his foot pushes off the refrigeration case. Like it’s his signature move, he inches closer, whispering in her ear, making her lean into him. You have to be fucking kidding me. Rob’s hands never brush her, but she captured his sole attention during the whole exchange. For some odd reason it hurt that he never even glanced my way.
He steps away from her and I quickly divert my focus to my phone, as though I didn’t just witness him getting a girl’s phone number. “You ready?” he asks, picking up his milkshake and taking a sip.
My sundae is now more of a soup and I muster up a dumb face. “Oh, you’re ready?” I stand up and throw away my ice cream. “Sure, I have to study anyway.” Without turning back around, I exit out the door and straight to his car.
He follows me to the passenger side but I twist around. “That’s okay, I’ve got it. Thank you.” He purses his lips and then back steps away.
“Alright then.” He elongates the ‘n’ and retreats back to his side of the car.
After he climbs in the car, the music starts blaring and I pretend to enjoy it when I’m really just happy for the reprieve. I have no reason to be mad; Rob never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. I told him I didn’t want to date him, or sleep with him. Did I really expect him to not date while I live in the room next door? No, but maybe I just hoped he could refrain in my presence. Unrealistic I remind myself, a leopard doesn’t change his spots and I’ve witnessed my dad pick up random woman my whole life. It goes with the persona.
MY HANDS WRAP tight around the steering wheel and I stretch my stiff muscles from being confined in my Mustang. I love my car and even more with the additions I’ve added, but my legs ache to get free. If I’m honest, it’s not just the two-hour ride to have lunch with my mom; my insides are churning with the picture of crossing over that town line. That Welcome to Mill River sign with the shot of downtown splashed across it that makes everyone think it’s a warm and cozy town can just hold off forever in my opinion. My mom’s the only reason I come back. Ever since she reached out to me while I was on tour with Krypto, I’ve matched her effort in healing our relationship.
She wanted to cook for me, like she always does, but I was not about to pile more on her; I told her we’d meet at a restaurant. When she threw out Market Place, canceling was on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t. So, here I sit in the parking lot, staring at the red checkered logo, trying to gain the nerve to walk in there. To not allow the memories of us together in the booth in the corner. The first time I held her hand, the first time I kissed her, and the first time I told her I loved her. It all happened in that round circular booth by the window. After the accident, I never returned. When a sharp pain nails my chest, I question why I agreed to this. I should have told my mom I’m not ready for this huge step. My counselor thinks it’s time though, so I agreed.
A loud tap beats on my window and I startle in my seat. Fear strikes inside of me immediately and I’m about to rush out of my car, ready to defend myself. Then I catch my mom’s smiling face staring in.
“Come on,” she mouths through the window. My nerves diminish slightly with her here. She was my bodyguard after the accident, constantly defending me.