Her face is more round than oval, but her cheekbones are very sharp and defined. Her lips are insanely full, and I bet, if she smiled, which she’s not, not one bit, they’d cover her perfect fucking face. Her lower lip is plumper than the top, but not by much, and she has a killer cupid’s bow … Perfection, so damn perfect, yet she’s frowning.
When I attempt a smile, which isn’t easy because my throat and mouth are now the Sahara Desert, and I’m not even one of the two who’s fucked up like that in my ride, she narrows her eyes and sneers as she drops burritos wrapped in foil into the bag, showing that she has a slight gap between her front teeth.
This girl is an anomaly in today’s world. She’s natural perfection.
I can’t stop my eyes from glancing down, and … fuck, I hope these two jackasses don’t catch the twisted humor in her shirt that has a cup and a burrito on it, with the words, “It’s All About The Bean” arched over it, but God help them if they notice her tits, because she’s straight-up perfect, free as fuck, too, and if they mention that, I’m calling their fathers—my uncles—to come get them.
Why?
Who the fuck knows why? And who the fuck knows why I want to climb through the window and lick her? Probably because of all the comments on the videos and pics I’ve posted where chicks comment, ‘I licked it, it’s mine’.
I want that to be mine.
She carries the cups over and sets them down, scowl in place, and I get no eye contact whatsoever. I’m seriously worried that, the minute she opens that window, I’m going to fucking lick her.
She turns and walks the short distance to the counter behind her, grabs the bag, and then carries it back. Rolling her eyes again, she releases a breath, opens the window, and looks up. “Nineteen dollars and fifty-eight cents.”
Max leans forward as I dig in my pocket to grab cash and asks, “How much for the therapy?”
“Save it. You need it more than I do.”
Amias cracks up, and so does Max.
Tone completely flat and emotionless, she says, “I’m not joking.”
I grin as I peel off a bill and hand it to her.
“Thanks, bab—”
“Don’t even.” She snatches the money from my outstretched hand then slams the window shut so quickly that I’m just barely able to retract my damn hand.
“Damn … sis.” Max laughs. “She’s—”
“Back down, Max.”
“Oh, shit.” Amias laughs. “Tricks is into—”
“No, bro, I just don’t want our food spit in.” I turn back and look toward the window as she’s opening it.
“No disrespect,” I say, looking for a name tag as she thrusts her hand holding my change at me.
“I don’t tamper with food and stop looking at my tits.”
Max and Amias again bust out laughing.
“I was looking for a name tag,” I explain.
“Yeah, well, take your change, your food, and your drinks. You don’t get my name. Feel free to complain to management.”
“I’m not going to complain,” I say, trying once again to redeem myself. “And keep the change.”
“You gave me a hundred dollars; I don’t—”
“Call it an inconvenience tax. You’ve more than earned—”
“Oh my God, just take your daddy’s money and let me get the hell out of here.”
“Better not let his mom hear that. She and his father are co-owners of—”
“Max,” I say at the same time she leans over and drops the change in my lap, saying, “Great.”
I scowl at them, trying to shut them up, when the bag of food is then dropped in my lap.
As Max and Amias bust up laughing again, I swing back around as she shoves two of the three cups out the window. I grab them before she can drop them into my lap, too. Quickly placing one in the drink holder, I then grab the third.
“Have a great—”
I stop as she slams the window shut.
“The fuck?” Max chuckles.
“Dude, think of how your mom would react if she heard all that shit that she just did,” Amias scolds him.
“She does … daily.” Max laughs harder.
“From her husband, not a stranger who she knows has mad respect for her,” I sigh, handing him his coffee. I look back through the window, and she’s sputtering to herself.
She’s fucking pissed.
I decide to cut my losses.
I throw my Jeep in drive and decide right then and there that, after Thanksgiving break, I’m going to be spending a shit load of time here, because that girl, that insanely sexy, confident, give-a-shit-less girl, doesn’t even see … me. But I’m going to make sure she does, and I’m going to make sure she likes what she sees.
Stopping before I pull out onto the road, I reach for my phone to send a text to my parents and realize it’s not there.
“Fuck!” I snarl.
“Bad coffee?” Amias laughs.
“Phone’s not here. I think I left it—”
“Bro, your hook-up has your phone?”
“Fuuuuck,” I growl as I peel out and onto the road.
* * *
With Amias and Max buzzing as they feed their faces in the Jeep, gushing about the pumpkin spiced coffee and the burrito that taste like Thanksgiving, I hike it down the quarter mile service road on Seashore Academy property, a private school the Crew and I will begin attending after break. I’m hoping like hell I don’t get busted by the campus cop walking around outside, or the RA in MacArthur Hall, the all-girls dorms, and maybe somehow, someone will be coming in late, and I can slip in. Chances of that happening on a holiday, with only a couple handful of its residents having stayed back over break, are one in a fucking million.
Standing on the ground, looking two stories up at the only lit window, hoping like
