What a dick.
“How’ve you been?” he asks.
“Pretty good,” she says.
“Awesome.” The asshole’s eye-fucking her. I don’t know how she can miss the way his eyes follow her curves, lingering on her breasts and hips.
Would it be weird if I gave him a short, sharp punch in the nose? Eye-fucking without consent should be illegal. This isn’t the Dark Ages.
“So,Zack,you have any recommendations?” I shoot him the bland smile of reprimand Mom taught me when I was three. It never fails to put the other person in their place.
He turns to me like he’s just realized Aspen isn’t sitting at the table alone. “Oh. Uh, yeah, actually.” He drones on and on. He’s trying to pronounce the dishes the way an Italian would, but he has a high voice and unfortunately sounds like he’s been sniffing helium.
Wonder what he’d say if I told him, “Your face looks like your ass,” in Italian. Would he understand or just stare blankly?
“Can you give us a moment to look at the menu?” I say when he’s finally finished.
“Yeah, sure. Want anything to drink?” He looks at Aspen as he asks.
“Lemonade,” she says.
I want to say scotch, but I’m not in Geneva. “A Coke for me.”
He lingers for a second, obviously hoping for some sort of further interaction with Aspen, but she’s looking at the thin menu like the sensible person she is.
Once he’s gone, I open my menu as well. “Wow. Look at that. Chicken parmesan. Fancy.”
She smiles. “Did you honestly think they’d have nothing but pasta?”
“Nothing butcheappasta. I expected only three items—cheap, cheaper and cheapest.”
She laughs, the sound sweet. “I wouldn’t treat youthatbadly.”
“You certainly set my expectations very low.”
“Didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“You couldn’t have disappointed me.”
She cocks a skeptical eyebrow, although her mouth remains curved into a smile. “I don’t know if you would’ve said the same thing at the polo field.”
“Ah, about that.” I clear my throat. “The fact is, you surprised me. I didn’t think you’d go the distance to track me down. Most give up.”
“Do you ghost your project partners a lot?”
“Case by case, but I basically don’t like group projects and avoid classes with them. I didn’t realize Taylor was going to assign a group paper. If I had, I would’ve thought twice about taking his class.”
Zackreturns with drinks and a bread basket. Then he claims he wants to know if we have any questions about the menu, while gazing at Aspen like a dog begging to be acknowledged.
Thankfully, Aspen orders clam pasta without indulging him. I get the chicken parm, while wondering if I should suggest he go work in the diet industry. He’d be able to guarantee effortless results. His face alone would kill the appetite of his clients.
He takes our menus, then sighs a little before heading toward the kitchen.
“So you’re ordering fancy,” Aspen says.
“Hey, you said you were paying. If that isn’t an invitation to splurge, I don’t know what is.”
She laughs.
