“Kiya is staying for a little longer,” Colton tells me closing the door to the house behind him.
“Of course she is.” I roll my eyes. Typical Kiya.
“Blake will take her home later,” he says, “He’s a good guy,” he adds sensing my hesitation.
He walks toward the passenger side of his Camaro and opens the door for me. This car is still as hot as hell. I remember it from the night at Eclipse, but somehow it looks a lot better today.
“Are you going to get in or just continue checking me out?” Colton says, lifting an eyebrow.
“I… Me? Wait. I wasn’t checking you out,” I respond.
“Am I supposed to believe you were checking out Lex?”
I look around to see if anyone else has joined us. “Who’s Lex?”
“Alexa over here,” he states, pointing at the car.
I laugh. “You named your car Alexa, and nicknamed it Lex?”
“Everyone names their car. Now stop avoiding the inevitable and fess up to checking me out.”
“I’m checking out something alright. But it isn’t you. Is this the 1969 Camaro SS?” I ask, running my fingers along the hood of the car.
“Ah, yes,” he says, confused.
“Automatic or standard transmission?”
“Standard.”
“Is it true what they say?”
He winks. “It depends on what they’re saying.”
“Does it go from zero to sixty in three point five seconds?” I like speed, maybe a little too much and it’s probably because of my obsession with the Fast and Furious Franchise.
“Yeah… it does,” he responds with a surprised look in his eyes.
“What?” I ask, shifting my eyes from him to the gorgeous machine in front of me.
“I’m just a little surprised you know about cars.”
I scoff. “Because I’m a girl?”
“If I say yes, does that make me sexist?”
“Maybe a little. I’ll have you know I also do—did—my own oil changes and changed my own tires,” I counter, attempting to hide the smile that is slowly spreading across my face.
“Then nope, not at all because you’re a girl. More like because you’re the only girl to ever ask,” he says finding a loophole in my logic. I slide into the passenger seat. He closes my door and jogs over to the driver’s side. Seconds later, we’re on the road.
“So where do you live?” he asks me.
“Hmm, you can just leave me at the fitness center.”
“Are you working out?” he asks with a giant smile on his face.
I smile back. “No, but it’s close enough to my house.”
“How about you just tell me your address and I’ll take you home. I promise I won’t stalk you.”
“That’s exactly what a stalker would say,” I say only half-jokingly.
“You’re probably right. But hey, you know where I live. It’s only fair.”
“Not by choice. It’s not like I wanted to show up at your house. I was dragged there.”
“I don’t think you minded it too much. I mean most girls would die to say they spent the night.”
“I’m sure they would, but not me. You’re not really my type.”
He chuckles. “Really?”
Damn that chuckle.
“Yeah, and neither are one-night stands or hookups. So, get your mind out of the gutter!”
“Love, I said ‘spent the night’, as in slept over. I think the only mind in the gutter is yours. Now, would you mind telling me where you live?”
I flush.
I tell him my address and he proceeds in the direction of my home.
I watch him as he drives. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift. My eyes carry on with their journey upward. His amazing broad shoulders. Damn, even his jaw is attractive. I look at his lips and see that he’s biting down a smile.
“What are you smiling at?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
“I can literally feel you checking me out.” He chuckles, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I am not!” I scoff.
“Sure you aren’t. Totally not checking me out like your favorite library book.”
“Library book? Really?” I say.
He briefly glances in my direction before fixing his eyes back on the road. “What?”
“Nothing. It’s just funny. You could have said ‘check out like groceries’, or something else, but nope, you chose books. That was totally unexpected.”
He sighs loudly. “Whatever.” His tone is terse and I think I may have offended him. I sit quietly in my seat, afraid to say anything else.
“So, Maya, we need to do the assignment today.”
I turn in his direction. “It’s Mi—” I stop when I see the amusement dancing in his eyes.
The asshole did it on purpose.
I guess it’s fair since I insulted his intelligence.
“You are the worst!” I laugh. This might be the first time someone messes up my name just to tease me. I watch him bite his lip, trying to contain his laughter.
“That’s what you get for typifying me as a dumb jock.” I’m about to apologize when he continues, “But seriously, where do you want to do this?”
“Do what?” I ask, feeling a little lost.
“The assignment, woman!”
“Oh, that. Hmm, don’t we need to figure out when Zack is available?”
“Zack is out of commission for the day. He’s nursing a major hangover,” he states, pulling into my driveway.
“So, he’s the type that blows off homework?” I ask, trying to prove my theory that there’s at least one slacker in every group.
“He’ll catch up. So, are we doing this?” he asks again.
“I have to take a shower and change,” I blurt out.
“Okay, is that an invitation to join you? Because I already showered today.” As he says this, I feel my cheeks warm.
“No!” I shove him.
“So then, back to the original question. Where do we do it?”
Because I’m not a morning person, and because I have a hangover, I can’t really think right now. “Let me get ready and then we can figure it out,” I reply.
“Okay, so I’ll wait for you then.”
“Wait, you want do it right now?”
“I thought you said after you shower?”
“Yeah, well, I thought that you meant later. Don’t you have stuff to do?”
“Yeah, it’s called homework.”
“Homework you weren’t too interested in doing on Friday, huh?”
Teasing him comes so naturally; it’s like we’ve been doing it for years.
“On Friday I had practice and then I slept like a hibernating bear.”
Maybe it won’t be so bad to spend a little more time with him. We do have to finish this part of the assignment by tonight. “Okay, I’ll shower and then we can go somewhere.” I start walking towards my apartment when I feel him behind me. I turn around quickly and he stops in his tracks.
“What’s up?” he asks, concern etched on his face.
“Oh, um, I don’t really let strangers into my house,” I say hesitantly.
“Me?” He points at himself. “I’m a stranger? Unbelievable,” he says with a grin.
“Yes, you are,” I answer, glad he doesn’t take it the wrong way.
“But you’ve already slept with me!” he whines.
“I did no such thing! I slept over, and not by choice. Huge difference,” I reply.
“It’s okay. I’m only busting your b— Giving you a hard time. I think it’s good to protect yourself. I’ll wait out in the car,” he responds.
“But what if I take two hours to get ready?”
“Then you might have to wake me up from the nap I’ll be taking in Alexa.”
“That sounds really weird. Maybe you shouldn’t have named your car,” I joke.
“Ha, ha, very funny! Now go and shower. We have work to do
.”
I almost stop him and tell him it’s okay for him to come inside, but I think better of it. That is not something I do, and I’m not about to let him throw my norms out the window. Even though, in a way, he already has.
COLTON
Here I am, sitting in the car with the seat reclined, listening to Michael Jackson. Well, it’s more like Michael Jackson is playing in the background because I can’t stop my mind from looping the question of ‘what am I doing here?’ And I don’t mean just here inside my car, or even here waiting for Mia, but just here with Mia overall. Because I know what I’m not doing with her. She slept in my bed, but not with me. She woke up in my room this morning, and didn’t just sneak out in the middle of the night. She got ready in my bathroom, and then I volunteered to drive her home. And now? Now I’m waiting for her outside her house. Like she means something.
Like she means something to me.
The thought of turning on the car and peeling out of her driveway briefly crosses my mind, but it’s soon overpowered by the memory of her sleeping in my bed. How peaceful and beautiful she’d looked with one leg over the blanket, her hair all over her face, and one arm hugging a pillow.
Even her snoring was a comforting sound. And then I realized regardless of how beautiful and innocent she might seem, she could also be deceiving and spiteful too.
Because that’s how women are.
Because that’s how my—
My thoughts are interrupted when I see Mia come out of the house, shutting the door behind her.
She walks to my car slowly, unsure if she should be here. That makes two of us.
Opening up the passenger door, she slides inside.
“So?” she says as she puts on her seatbelt.
“So?” I repeat.
“Where are we doing this?”
“Where do you want to do this, Mia?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.
10
MIA
I didn’t really expect him to be sitting in his car by the time I got out. Part of me hoped he’d left while I was in the shower. Today has been embarrassing enough. I wonder why he stayed, though. Why did he take me in, drive me home, and wait for me? He probably did it for Blake, so that he could spend more time alone with Kiya. Maybe he’s not as shitty a person as I think he is.
“—Mia?”
Crap. “What?” I ask, hoping my blush doesn’t show.
“Wow, you either haven’t fully woken up or you’re still checking me out.”
“I haven’t had my coffee,” I say, ignoring his second comment.
“Okay, so let’s get you some.” I feel my eyebrows bunch up at his response. “Some coffee,” he adds and smiles. A really contagious smile that has me smiling back.
“Yeah, coffee. Sorry, I’m not me when I’m caffeine deprived.”
“Did you just remake the Snickers commercial?”
“Maybe, or maybe they remade my coffee commercial.”
“Yeah that’s probably the more likely scenario.”
“So, coffee?” I say.
“Yeah, I know just the place. You can go back to being human and we can actually get started on the homework all at the same time.”
“Works for me.”
The car ride is quiet. I spend it looking down at my hands, or out the window watching the trees go by. I look up when the car comes to a stop in front of something that looks like a trailer truck, but has a sign with the words West Side Diner on top of it. From the outside, it looks like the place belongs in the early 1950s. My door opens, and I look up to find Colton holding out his hand to me. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it, feeling the sparks on contact.
I step out of the car. “Wow, you really take the door thing seriously? Afraid I’m going to slam it?” I mock, taking my hand back and immediately feeling the emptiness.
“I told you, I actually have manners. This isn’t a façade I’m putting up just for you.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“So, West Side Diner? Feeling like Grease?” I respond.
“It’s actually a pretty cool place. I come here for breakfast every Sunday.”
“Look at you, sharing your most prized possessions with me. First your bed, then your car, and now your diner. What’s next?”
I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I can’t stop myself from saying it anyway.
“You’ll have to stick with me to find out.” Sticking with him doesn’t sound like the worst idea. Still, I better not get used to it.
“So, are we going to go inside or just watch it from here?” I say instead, ignoring his comment.
“Very funny. Let’s go.”
Inside the diner, it’s more old school than I would have imagined. The booths are red and white, matching the waiters’ striped uniforms. Very fun, very retro, and very busy it seems. The crowd is different from what I’m used to at the college coffee shop. This one is full of older people. No college students in sight, aside from Colton and me.
A really beautiful middle-aged waitress greets us with a warm smile and gives Colton a hug before leading us to a booth.
“Do you want the usual, Colton?” she asks him as she hands me a menu.
She knows his name? Maybe he does come here all the time. It does make me wonder if I’m the first girl he’s brought here though. Would they think I’m just another notch on his bedpost?
He smiles at her. “Yes, please, Karla.”
“And for you?” she asks, turning her attention to me.
“Coffee, please.” She nods then leaves. “What’s the usual?” I ask Colton.
He grins. “French toast, pancakes, eggs, bacon, home fries and two glasses of orange juice.”
“Are we feeding a small country?”
“Yeah, they all live inside my body and I have to make sure I keep them alive.”
“Well, I certainly was not expecting that response,” I say, laughing.
“You asked. Never ask a question you don’t want the answer to.”
“I— Okay.” My coffee arrives and after smelling the deliciousness, I take a sip; my mood instantly lifts.
“Okay, let’s start. Do you have the sheet with the instructions and the getting to know you questions?” I ask, ready to take on the world now that I’ve had my caffeine.
“No, I left it at home.”
“Seriously?”
“No, Mia, of course not. I have it here.” He pulls it out of the back pocket of his jeans, placing the slightly crumpled folded paper on top of the table.
“Let me read the instructions.”
He passes the paper to me, adding, “Just read them out loud. I haven’t had a chance to look at them yet.”
“Okay.” I unfold the paper and begin to read. “The homework is divided into parts. First, on the next page of this packet, you will find a series of questions that every person in your group must answer in full. In answering these questions, the group will find issues that are important to each of you.
This will facilitate part two of the assignment, where you will need to select a world problem you’d like to fix. Once the problem is selected, you cannot change it. You may also not change the group you are a part of. There will be subsequent assignments, but for Monday’s class, you will need to submit the answers to the questions and a statement of the problem you will try and fix along with the reason you have chosen it.
As I mentioned before, this is a humanities course, and the purpose of it is to make you look outside of your immediate surroundings, find an issue that interests you, and work on figuring out a solution. This is due on Monday during class, and if not received at the beginning of class you will lose fifteen percent of the final project grade.”
I finish reading the instructions, thinking about what could have happened to my final grade if we didn’t work on the assignment.
“Sounds like we’re superheroes who need to play the marriage game before saving the world,” Colton says, and
I almost spit out my coffee.
“How Well Do You Know Your Spouse?” I add, wondering if that’s the game he’s referring to.
“Yeah, that one.”
“I hate that game. It gives the illusion that the people committing to each other know their partner well. When in actuality, no one really knows anyone well.”
“You can say that again,” he says so softly I almost miss it.
“Okay, what’s the first question?”
“Which do you prefer, cats or dogs?” I read out loud.
“Dogs.”
“Cats.”
We answer at the same time. I’m a little confused as to how this will help us figure out a world issue. Maybe the professor thinks we’re going to do something about animals in crisis.
“Why dogs?” I ask though it’s not relevant.
“Because they’re fun, playful, and I can take them out for runs. Why cats, Cat Lady?”
“Because they’re independent, not needy, and don’t give a crap about people—something I aspire to.”
“Well, this is going to be a long day. Next question.”
“Okay, so you prefer dogs over cats, your favorite article of clothing is jackets, and your favorite holiday is Christmas,” I say to Colton, who is busy feasting on the insurmountable amount of food he ordered. He’s finished his pancakes, and is starting on his eggs. He passed the French toast to me a few minutes after getting his meal because he thinks he won’t finish it, and thinks I need to eat something. Apparently, coffee doesn’t count as a meal.
Although I initially refuse, I take him up on the offer because I’m still nursing a hangover, and it’ll get better if I have real food in my stomach.
“It’s not like your answers are any better: cat lady, boots, and Thanksgiving.”
“Are you badmouthing Thanksgiving?”
“Ah, what’s so great about it?” he asks.
“Food!” I reply enthusiastically.
“There’s food for Christmas, too.”
“Yeah, but there are presents and whatnot which take away from the holiday.”
“But you still have food.”
“Yes, but there’s just too much going on. Thanksgiving is all about giving thanks and eating.”
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