When Baylor’s eyes light up as we pull into my favorite burger joint, I figure we’re off to a good start. We grab a booth in the far corner and glance at each other over the top of our menus. I contemplate sitting right next to her, but then I wouldn’t get to look at her gorgeous face all night.
When the waitress comes to take our order, Baylor unabashedly orders a cheeseburger and fries. “I’ll have the same. But, make mine a double. And bring a couple of chocolate shakes,” I add, knowing Baylor’s penchant for sweet drinks.
“Oh, yummy,” she says. She looks around the restaurant. The tables are adorned with black-and-red-checkered tablecloths. The lighting is low and the muted music coming from overhead is soft rock. The whole place is a contradiction. You’d expect steaks and fine wine on the menu at an establishment like this. It’s a forgotten gem and since it’s over the budget of most college students, it’s not rowdy and full of drunk underage kids.
“I love this place,” she says, her eyes returning back to mine. “It reminds me of our restaurant back home.”
“Oh, right,” I say, remembering what she’s told me about their small family restaurant back in Maple Creek. She grew up spending her nights and weekends working at ‘Mitchell’s’ alongside her younger sisters, Skylar and Piper. “So, tell me again why you chose journalism over the family business.” We’ve talked about it briefly in the past, but she’s never really told me why she wouldn’t want to follow in her parents’ footsteps.
“Growing up, and especially when I was younger, owning the restaurant was a struggle for my parents. But, it was their dream so they did everything possible to make it happen, including borrowing against their house and all of our college funds.” Her face turns happy when she says, “Then one day, this woman comes into the restaurant and orders the special. We had no idea who she was. Like most patrons, we thought she was simply passing through on her way to the city. But two weeks later, an envelope shows up with a newspaper article from the New York Times talking about a mom-and-pop restaurant in Maple Creek. Our restaurant. The article raved about the food, the service, the ambiance. After that, business picked up ten-fold and my parents never again had to worry about the impending foreclosure that our house was under.” She picks thoughtfully at her napkin. “It was then that I understood the power of journalism. I vowed to be someone who would bring joy to people with the words I could write.”
I’m stunned once more by this girl sitting in front of me. But before I become a driveling fool and tell her again how amazing she is, the waitress arrives with our food. I watch Baylor take a big bite out of the cheeseburger that is almost too large for her small hands to hold. Juice trickles down out of the side of her mouth and I have to sit on my hands to keep from reaching across the table to wipe her chin and then lick the savory taste of her off my finger.
“Umugud,” she mumbles through her mouthful of meat as her eyes roll to the ceiling.
I watch in complete fascination, my own food forgotten in front of me, as she enjoys her first bite of what I’m now sure will be her favorite burger as well.
I love that she ordered a cheeseburger. Karen and her friends would have ordered a side salad with that vinegar crap on it. Why do they think it’s sexy to be so thin? Do they think guys want to feel a skeleton when we touch them? I remember the few times when I’ve had my arms around Baylor, feeling her soft curves under my hands, and suddenly I start to get hard under the drape of the black-and-red-checkered tablecloth.
I pick up my own burger and quickly eat it. I think about the new soccer formation my coach had us try last week at practice. Anything to calm down my rising, uh, problem.
Before I know it, my plate is cleared and I find myself reaching over to grab one of Baylor’s fries. She playfully smacks my hand away. “What?” I say. “Don’t all girls share their food on dates?” I inventory what’s left on her plate, knowing she’ll never be able to finish the mammoth burger that is barely half-eaten and the mound of fries that is still sitting next to it.
“I don’t know, do they?” she asks, picking up and tearing apart a fry, popping half of it into her mouth. “I’m not all girls, McBride.”
“No, you are definitely not, Mitchell.”
She motions to her plate. “I’m not against sharing,” she says. “I just need something in return.”
I look at my empty plate and then back up at her with questioning eyes.
“Not food,” she says. “Information.”
I raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I ask you a question and when you answer it, you get some of my fries,” she says.
I laugh. “Twenty Questions, huh?”
“Not really.” She shakes her head. “Just stuff I’m curious about.”
I look at the large pile of fries on her plate. “Fire away, then. I’m still hungry.”
She bites her lip and rolls her eyes from side to side, clearly trying to think of what she wants to know about me first. “Okay. When did you first start playing soccer?”
Nobody has ever asked me that question before. Not even my coaches. I can remember the day with an almost painful clarity. “When I was five, my dad was out of town at some judges convention,” I say. “Whenever that happened, it was like Christmas at my house. My mom and I would do things that my dad normally wouldn’t allow. He was always of the mind that kids had to earn things. And let’s just say he wasn’t impressed by my rebellious tendencies.”
I roll my eyes at the memory of my dad trying to control a rambunctious five-year-old. “My mom took me to a sporting goods store and told me to pick out anything I wanted. I remember walking around and seeing all the baseball bats and football helmets. Then I saw a dad and his boy. They were bouncing a big black-and-white ball back and forth between them on their knees. They were smiling and laughing. They looked so happy. I wanted that. I wanted what they had. And my five-year-old brain thought that just maybe the soccer ball was the key to it.”
I look over at Baylor and see her sad eyes on me. She knows by now what a douchebag my dad is to me, so this is probably no big surprise. “I’ll never forget the sad look on my mom’s face that day. I didn’t understand it then but she knew. She knew why I had chosen the ball and she also knew that I would never get to experience what that little boy had.
“The next day, my mom took me to my first soccer game.” I laugh. “Ironically, it was at Baylor University,” I say, smiling over at her. “So, that’s when I started playing. You would have been hard-pressed to find me not in the possession of a soccer ball after that.”
Baylor looks at me with a face full of empathy while she pushes her entire plate of fries over in front of me. I grab a few and push it back to her. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Bay. My father has always been a pretty good example.”
“What?” she asks, clearly confused.
“He’s a good example of what kind of dad I don’t ever want to be,” I clarify.
She nods at me in understanding. “So, you want kids, huh?” she asks, looking down at her half-eaten plate of food.
“Yes, of course,” I say. “Well, not now, but someday.” I laugh. She giggles. We stare.
“Next question,” I say.
She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips. I can tell this is going to be a good one.
“When was the last time you went on a date?” she asks.
“You really want to go there, Mitchell?”
“I do.” She nods her head.
I blow out a breath. “I guess technically, never.”
“Technically?” she asks.
“Baylor, you have to understand something about me,” I explain. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. And a lot of what you heard is probably true.” I lower my eyes in shame, vowing to be as truthful as I can with her. “I’ve never really dated a girl before. Yes, I’ve obviously been with a lot of them.” I cringe at my own words. “But, I never met anyone that I wanted to take out on a real date. Before you, that is.”
She stares at me in contemplation. Then I realize I probably didn’t really answer what she was asking. So I add, “If you’re asking when was the last time I was with a girl, it was last August. The weekend before I plowed into you at Murphey Hall.”
I hear her take in a sharp breath. Then I see that beautiful rosy color creep up her face as she pushes the plate of fries over in front of me again. “You have to know that you are a lot more, uh . . . experienced than I am, Gavin.”
“It may seem that way, Baylor. But, this is all new to me.” I wave my hand around indicating the restaurant. “I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. In this case, I’m afraid I’m the naïve one.”
She smiles at me. “Okay,” she says. “I guess we can both learn about things together.”
My dick twitches in my pants. Does that mean she wants me to teach her stuff, I wonder. Lord, I hope so.
I grab a few fries and push the plate back over to her, wondering what our next deeply-philosophical conversation will be.
“Favorite color?” she asks.
I laugh at her. Then I look into her eyes. “I’m not sure there’s a name for it, but it’s brown with bits of blue and green.” I reach over and grab a few fries.
The dimple makes an appearance before her next question. “Favorite movie?” she asks.
“Not ‘Ben-Hur’,” I say immediately, making her laugh.
“Too long for you, huh?” she asks.
“Actually, I haven’t even seen it yet, so I shouldn’t diss it.”
“Huh?” she asks.
“I admit, I wasn’t really watching the movie last night.”
She smiles. “Me neither,” she confesses.
I laugh. “Want to come over tomorrow and try again?” I ask, happy to have another chance to see her this weekend.
“Okay,” she agrees. “But this time, move your furniture back to the way it was so there aren’t any distractions.” My eyes widen as she continues talking. “I saw the couch marks in the carpet, McBride. Next time, melt a cube of ice in the indentations to make them come out.” She laughs at me. I’m so busted. God, I love this girl.
Like.
I like this girl.
Geez.
I pay the bill and we walk out of the restaurant. I pull her towards the lake behind the building and ask, “Are you warm enough to go for a walk? They have a really great path around the lake back here.”
“Sounds good,” she says.
We start walking and I reach over to take her hand in mine. I see her smile out of the corner of my eye, making me wonder if she feels the same sparks I do.
“Oh,” she says. “I forgot to tell you. I got a call from the student newspaper earlier today. They’ve given me a job as a student assistant in their front office.”
“That’s fantastic, Baylor!”
“Well, it’s not as good as being on the writing or editing staff. I’ll be a lowly office assistant, but I figure you have to start somewhere,” she says.
“I’m sure you’ll be promoted to a writer in no time,” I tell her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Halfway around the lake, she starts shivering and I feel like a prick asking her to walk out in this cold. I stop walking and wrap my arms around her, rubbing my hands up and down her back to try and warm her. She smiles up at me, and under the soft glow of the lights lining the path, I can see that her nose is red with cold. I lean down and rub my nose on hers. Then I do what I’ve been dreaming about for the past six hours. I kiss her again.
I wasn’t just imagining things earlier today; she is a good kisser, fantastic even. I try to put out of my mind the fact that she and Asswipe probably did a lot of kissing last semester. I wonder if their kisses were anything like this. No way. Not possible. I’ve kissed a hundred girls and not one of those kisses has come close—or even in the vicinity of close—to this kiss. I try not to think of what else she might have done with him.
When did I become such a hypocrite? I can’t be mad that she has been with other guys. She obviously knows about my less-than-stellar history and she’s okay with it.
I forget about anyone that came before me and I concentrate on kissing her. Our lips meld together and our body heat ramps up by several degrees. When our tongues begin to explore each other, she moans into me and I pull her even closer, mashing our bodies together so she can feel what she does to me. When we finally part, our breaths come out in a fast sequence of smoky puffs as we try to get our breathing under control. I press my forehead to hers, wanting to keep in contact with as much of her skin as I possibly can.
“Ready to head back?” I ask.
She nods at me and I bask in the knowledge that I’ve kissed her speechless.
We talk and hold hands in my truck as I take the long way back to her dorm. I look over to catch her smiling because she knows it. When we finally reach the parking lot, I purposefully pull into a spot that is not illuminated by the overhead lights, hoping for a make-out session before we say goodbye. The parking lot is sparse due to the relatively early hour for college students, but I didn’t want to try to stretch the night out by inviting her back to my house. I need to take it slow with her. Slow and steady wins the race. And this is one race I fully intend on winning.
I turn off the engine and we sit in silence for a minute. Then we both share an awkward laugh because we know that neither of us wants to end the date. I put my hand back on hers and tug on her to scoot closer to me on the bench seat. She unbuckles her seatbelt and obliges. I quickly undo mine as well and turn to face her. I release her hand and reach up to run my thumb along her jaw. “Are you warm enough in here?”
“Kind of,” she says. I go to start up the engine and turn on the heater. But before I can, she grabs my arm, putting my hand back on her face. “I know another way you can warm me up.”
My dick springs to life once more. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to be around her again without getting a chubby. I lean over and kiss her. She tastes like french fries, chocolate and spearmint all rolled into one. Normally not what I’d consider a great combination, but on her, it’s wicked good. She moves around, trying to make our bodies match up more evenly in the front seat of my truck. I turn my body, trying to make her more comfortable, but I move too quickly and our teeth knock together.
“Sorry,” I say. “I know it’s not very comfortable in here.”
She looks at me shyly. Then she looks around at the windows that are now sufficiently fogged up. I wonder what she’s doing, but when she climbs up onto me, I understand she was looking to see if anyone could see inside the truck.
When she settles into my lap and looks down at me from under hooded lids, I have to shift myself under her to get a little more room in my jeans. If I thought she was gorgeous earlier, I obviously didn’t know how incredible she was going to look straddling me. She looks at me tentatively, as if she’s not sure this is okay. Instead of speaking, I reach up and pull her head down to me, drawing her into a kiss.
We kiss until we’re out of breath. She pulls away slightly in an attempt to re-inflate her lungs. I take the opportunity to explore her neck with my mouth, pressing my lips to the sensitive flesh between her neck and shoulder, where I feel the heightened beat of her pulse. I lick and suck and savor the sweet taste of her from ear to ear. She moans and grinds into me when I tongue a place just under her earlobe, so I hang out there for a while. The rate of her breathing increases as I concentrate on this one little area of skin. The area that I document in my mind for future enjoyment.
The way she’s squirming around on my lap has my dick turning hard as stone. She momentarily breaks contact with me to remove her coat. Yes, it’s definitely getting warm in here. Ordinarily, if I had a girl straddling me like this, I’d be ripping at her clothes. But that was then. This is now. I can’t rush this and I sure as hell don’t want our first time to be on our very first date. In my truck. That’s tacky. And Baylor Mitchell deserves a lot better than tacky.
But I can’t help myself from reaching out to cup her tits when I see that her nipples have pebbled under her thin sweater. I gently place my hands on them while looking into her eyes for permission. She smiles at me and closes her eyes so I grasp onto them, enjoying the way that, even through her shirt and bra, they fit perfectly into my hands. I run my fingers across her nipples and tug them gently through the material of her sweater. This causes her to throw her head back and moan.
Fuck. I didn’t think my dick could get any harder. And, she’s not helping the situation by grinding herself into me. Watching her face as I fondle her tits turns me on more than I’ve ever been turned on before. It’s better than porn.
She opens her eyes to see me staring at her and her face instantly flushes. She has nothing to be embarrassed about. I pull her head down to mine with one hand until our foreheads meet, leaving my other hand firmly on her chest. “God, you are so sexy, Bay.”
She puts her lips on mine and moans into my mouth. “Gavin,” she murmurs in the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. Our kisses get harder, longer, and more desperate as she continues her erotic dance on top of me. She shifts her body a little to the left and moans when she discovers a place that brings her more pleasurable friction. I keep up my ministrations on her tits while her hands roam my shoulders, neck and hair. She tugs on my hair when I pinch her nipples. She leans her head back and I take the opportunity to suck on that place under her ear.
She breathes, “Oh, God . . .” Her body starts to shake and by the time I realize what’s happening, she’s gyrating on top of me while calling out my name.
Holy shit!
If I hadn’t jerked off earlier today, I’d be coming right along with her. What I’m witnessing is nothing less than incredible and my new life’s ambition is to get her to do this as much as humanly possible.
When she stops convulsing and she realizes what just happened, her jaw drops and her crimson face looks stunned. “Does that normally happen like this?” she asks, shyly, looking between our fully-clothed bodies.
All of a sudden the magnitude of her inexperience hits me square in the face. “It can, yes,” I say, running my thumb along her full lips that are swollen from kissing.
She buries her head into my neck. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I told you I wasn’t very experienced.”
I pull her away from me and stare into her eyes. “Baylor,” I say. “First of all, don’t ever, ever be sorry for what just happened. It was incredible. You are incredible.” I push some of her hair behind her ears and place my hands on either side of her still-flushed face. “Darlin’, are you a virgin?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose at me and gives me a shy nod.
“Okay then,” I say. “We will take it slow. We won’t go any faster than you absolutely want to.” I pull her chin up so she’s looking at me again. “You are in control, got it?”
She nods again and I pull her forehead down to mine. “You are so beautiful, Baylor,” I say.
She buries her face in my neck again and asks, “Can you call me that other name again?”
I smile. “Anything for you, darlin’,” I say. And I mean every single word. I would do anything for this girl.