“Oh, no. Don’t,” I say. “It’s freezing out.”
“Hush. I’ll be fine, Lucky.” He pauses as we reach the food court. “It’s only going to get colder. Why don’t we get something from the food court on the way back? That way we don’t have to go out again.”
Now he’s thinking. I can get behind stopping for food if it means we get to stay put later. But when we reach the food court, we find it closed.
“Fuck,” he says, reading the sign.
“Let’s just order a pizza or something. My treat,” I say.
“It’s not that. I probably should have stocked up before it closed. I didn’t think about it, and I’m here until for another week before I head to New York.”
“Don’t worry about it. We can go by the grocery store,” I say without thinking.
He flinches at the suggestion. Sometimes I forget how sensitive he is about being on scholarship. That’s not going to stop me from making sure he eats, even if I have to decorate my naked body with food to trick him into accepting it.
“Or… ” With a furtive glance, Sterling walks over to the market section of the food court, where students buy the kind of stuff they can take back to their dorms. The lights are off, but there’s nothing stopping someone from taking things. There’s just no way to pay. He picks up an apple and a couple of bananas, then he grabs a tiny box of cereal.
“Here.” I grab them and shove them in the oversized coat he put on me.
“No way. I can’t let you steal for me,” he says, his face a mixture of stubbornness and concern.
“If you get caught, you will end up in big trouble,” I say firmly. “If I get caught, they’ll end up apologizing to me. So just let me do this.”
His face remains a stony mask, and I regret bringing it up.
“It’s all going to go bad. We’re doing them a favor,” I say.
“Fine,” he says, softening a bit, “but if campus cops stop us, I’m telling them it’s all mine.”
We shove the stolen food in his coat pockets, and, feeling suddenly reckless, I swipe a cake slice in a plastic container.
“Uh, what do you think you are doing, Lucky?”
“I want cake. And I shall have it.”
“Not in my pockets you’re not.”
“And this,” I say, ignoring him and grabbing a brownie. I stride towards the exit, my pockets loaded with contraband. “You’ll thank me later.”
Sterling has to hustle to keep up.
“You’re so hot right now,” he says appreciatively.
“I know.” I try to say it evenly, but a wicked grin finds its way to my face. Is it the thrill of stealing something for the first time? Or am I riding high on embracing my bad girl side? First, stealing. Next, sex. Maybe he’s rubbing off on me.
Because my hands are full, Sterling opens the door for me. I nearly bump into a couple professor types, and despite telling myself moments ago that I didn’t care about the consequences, my heart skips a beat. One of the professors, a kindly looking uncle-type with bushy white eyebrows, does a double take when he sees me carrying the brownie. After a moment, though, he seems to conclude I am a student worker taking home old food, because he gives me a bright smile and says, “Looks yummy.”
“It better be,” I say.
Sterling’s dorm is across the street, and it’s not until he’s putting the DVD in the player that my heart slows down. I no longer feel like a fugitive. Now, I just feel like a girl about to make the biggest decision of her life. I distract myself by arranging the stolen food on the coffee table, like it’s a feast.
“You hungry?”
I shake my head. I’m too nervous to be hungry. “Maybe later.”
He lies down on the couch and beckons me with his finger to join him.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to think of anything to say and coming up short. I lounge back, and he folds his right arm into a V, and my head falls on it like a pillow. His other arm he wraps around the bare skin of my midriff.
“I’m good.”
I consider asking him to forget the movie and put his hands all over my body, but manage to bite my tongue. He turns it on, and I try to pay attention, but all I can think about is the way he feels pressed against me, how strong his arms are, how good he smells.
“I’d love to take you there,” he says.
I focus on the screen. Paris is gold-tinged in the evening light, and the characters are on a boat somewhere along the Seine, bickering.
“Paris?” I say dreamily, thinking of walking with him, hand in hand, under the Eiffel Tower.
“You’ve been there, haven’t you?” he guesses.
“Yeah, but I think it would be better to go with you.” I think every experience would be better with him at my side.
“Someday,” he promises, his breath tickling across my ear lobe. A tremor races through me. “Someday, I will give you Paris and London and every dream you’ve ever dreamed.”
“I only want them if you’re there.” I watch Audrey Hepburn for a moment. It’s not exactly a standard romance. She seems to be spending most of the movie trying to figure out if he’s only after her for money. “Do they fall in love?”
“I don’t know.” His lips brush my ear. “Do they?”
Are we still talking about the movie?
I want to turn into him and discover every unexplored bit I can. But I can’t seem to find the courage. Instead, I sit up and reach for the piece of chocolate cake. There are no forks, so I pinch a piece off and stick in my mouth.
