The entire ride over to Ruby’s, this awesome little diner close to downtown Nashville, I try to figure out why I agreed to this. I’m willingly spending time with Clay Mitchell. Well, I don’t guess it’s technically willingly. We have to work together, which means I have to be around him.
When we walk into Ruby’s, I take a deep breath, breathing in the smells of home-cooked food. The majority of the food I eat is from the campus dining hall, even though my parents would gladly let me come home for dinner each night. I love them to death, but I like spending time with my friends too, and we’re experts at dining hall or dollar menu fare. Ruby’s though, is this little fifties-inspired diner, fitting with today’s lecture on the music of that decade. It’s got red vinyl booths, Formica tables, and exposed brick walls that match the exterior. My dad used to bring Anna and me here on teacher workdays when we were small, and let us eat at the counter that sits along one wall. We were fascinated, watching the cooks make food and the waitresses pick up plates.
I follow Clay over to a booth close to the back that’s far enough out of the way we won’t be interrupted by people sitting down or getting up to leave. I take a seat across from him. A waitress in a red “Ruby’s” shirt and poodle skirt comes over to take our orders. Surprisingly, he orders the same patty melt and chocolate shake that I did. It’s weird having anything at all in common with him. As soon as she walks away, I grab my notebook out of my bag and open it to a fresh page.
“Do you have any ideas as far as what you want to do the project on?” I look up at him expectantly, sure he wants me to pick something, but giving him the chance to at least suggest a topic. It will most likely be “The best way to get laid while on the road” or “Groupies aren’t for long-term relationships.” Something sexual and chauvinistic.
I’m still dreaming up ridiculous ideas when he tells me his thoughts. “I was thinking, since the class touches on so many aspects of Rock music, even punk rock.” He stops, and when I focus back on him, he looks uncertain, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Anyway, so I was thinking maybe we could do something that will tie in Nashville with Rock. You know, since this place is all about the country stars. There are lots of artists crossing over from Country to Rock these days. We could focus on the differences between artists who are solely ‘Country’ and artists who have more of a Rock sound.”
He continues to expand on his idea, but I can only look at him in shock. This is so not the Clay I’m used to. The Clay I knew in high school was all about the partying, about doing the least amount of work possible, or paying someone to do the work for him. He didn’t even do his own senior project. He paid someone to write the paper and put together the notecards for him so that all he had to do was turn it in and do the oral presentation. Now, I see a different side to him, one that’s older and more focused. I have no idea what to do with that.
Our conversation is interrupted when the waitress brings over our food. Clay digs in immediately, taking a bite so large I don’t know how he will close his mouth to chew. Not counting the chipmunk cheeks he’s currently sporting, I realize he’s extremely attractive.
The moment is broken when one of the waitresses walks by wearing a tight Ruby’s t-shirt and a skirt so short it barely covers her ass. Clay immediately hones in on her bare legs and immense cleavage. He’s no longer paying any attention to me, and I know I should look away, but I can’t. He notices me gaping at him and asks, “What?” The smallest hint of red colors his cheeks as he smiles sheepishly at me.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” I’m not about to tell him I was thinking you were hot, but then you acted like your gross self, so I’m good now. Clay shrugs, then goes back to his food. I pick at mine, my thoughts totally jumbled. I’m so confused right now. I loathe Clay, always have. The first time I met him, I may have thought he was good looking, but then he opened his mouth and made a smart-ass comment about his brother getting his first piece of ass. I wanted to run out of the room, mortified beyond belief. My shyness when I was around him and Max is what led to him calling me Kitty Kat. He told me I was like a kitten, too small and afraid to fight back. From that moment on, our mutual animosity was born. The guy acts like I’m this weak little girl, and I’m not. That’s not who I want to be. Yes, I can be shy, but I’m not a doormat.
“You’re thinking awfully hard over there.” His voice startles me, and my eyes dart up to meet his curious ones. He’s studying me way too intently.
My skin suddenly feels stretched too tight. I need to get away from him before I make a complete fool of myself. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I just realized I told Becca I would meet her to go shopping after class. We’re going to the party at Sigma Phi Saturday night.” It’s not a total lie, we are going shopping. We just made plans to go tomorrow afternoon since we both only have morning classes.
Clay starts to laugh. “You’re going to a frat party?” I roll my eyes, but he continues, saying condescendingly, “Kitty Kat, you don’t fit in with frat boys.” This is the Clay I’m used to, the one I’m comfortable with, the one I hate.
I narrow my eyes and stand. “Thanks, asshole.”
“Wait,” he grabs my hand, stopping me from walking off. I could jerk my hand out of his grasp, and I should, but for some reason I wait to see what he says next. I don’t expect an apology, and it’s a good thing because he sure doesn’t give me one. “I just mean that frat guys are assholes and they’re only looking for a good time.”
“Your point?” I ask, one eyebrow raised.
He shrugs, “Just that you’re not a good time girl. You give off an I’m a virgin, buy me a house with a white picket fence, two point five kids and a dog vibe. You’re the type of girl those guys run from.”
I’m so offended, I can only stare at him in disbelief. He goes back to his food, clearly expecting me to relax and sit back down, but I want to punch him in his junk. I would, if I wasn’t afraid to touch what I’m sure is a massive case of crotch rot. And to think just a few minutes ago I thought he was attractive. I should be thanking him for reminding me just why I should never allow myself to be even the least bit attracted to him. He’s the worst kind of asshole.
“You’re wrong,” I tell him, leaning in close. “I’m not a virgin. And, you know what? I’m absolutely down for a good time.” He shakes his head, chuckling, and I. See. Red. Without a thought, I pick up my half-empty milkshake and dump it on his head before turning to leave. I look back just before the restaurant door closes to see Clay staring at me, retribution in his eyes, while chocolate milkshake drips down from his hair onto his face. I smile sweetly as I give him a finger wave. I should give him the finger, but I’m classier than that.