“Okay.” She leaned onto the counter and blinked up at the poor sap taking our order. “In that case, may I please have four hot dogs, a large popcorn and a chocolate swirl ice cream?”
“Why stop there? Keep going.”
“Nah, I’m good. That should fill me up.” She waited for me to order with her hand on her hip. The little power pose made me smile. Callie was a handful, all right.
“Double the order, please.” I handed him my card. “You realize I’m going to watch and make sure you eat everything you ordered out of your feminist spite, right?”
“You are underestimating how much I can pack away.” She patted her belly and made a grunting noise. It was not meant to be attractive and yet my dick perked up. “And don’t tell me you’re one of those people with a food fetish?”
“A what?”
“You know. People who like watching other people eat phallic objects. Bananas, cucumbers, popsicles, hot dogs.” She widened her eyes at me, mirth dancing in them. “You are, aren’t you? You were just too perfect to be true.”
Fuck the audience. I kissed her. She’d called me perfect and, coming from her, that was the best compliment ever. She gasped in shock at the sudden movement and slapped me away. “What the hell was that for?”
“You. Only you.” I smiled and kept her in my arm. “And to answer your absurd question, I don’t have a fetish, but I’m concerned how you knew about such a thing.”
“I’ve heard things. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” I slid my hand to her ass. I hadn’t touched it yet, which I deserved an award for. I patted right where her thigh began to curve, but regretted it immediately. Her. Ass. Was. Perfect. “Does Callie enjoy people eating penis-shaped food?”
“No. I don’t.” She tried to sneak away from me, but I held her tighter. “I can’t think straight when you touch me and I want to keep my brain the rest of the night, thank you very much.”
“For the entire rest of the night, or at least while we’re here?” I let her move away and her eyes heated over. She gulped.
“I’ll let you know when I figure out the answer to that question.”
“Fair enough.” The guy passed her the box of everything we ordered. We found a table off to the side and once she had a hot dog in her hand, inches from her mouth. I dropped the bomb I was holding back. “Just so you know, Callie, I don’t have a food fetish in general, but I am really going to appreciate watching you eat those hot dogs.”
Her eyes widened, the food centimeters from her teeth. She thought about what to do next—I read the calculating look in her eye. “First, you have an insane talent to make the oddest things sexy, and secondly, I’m never going to be able to eat a hot dog and not think of this moment.”
“Good. I like making an impression on you,” I said.
She shook her head and bit into her hot dog. I’d never wished to be food before, but I wanted to be that piece. I told my brain to shut the fuck up with all the weird things I was thinking, but did it listen?No.My thoughts derailed, making their own way down a path I didn’t want to explore. Callie, coming to games. Callie, meeting my mom and sister. Callie, traveling with me to new cities. Callie, waking up in my bed.Fuck.I must’ve acted like a crazy person, because her eyes widened in worry.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her, my stomach tightening.
“Look who’s here.” She pointed to the parking lot and frowned. A van full of guys parked and they all walked out dressed in crazy costumes. Was she checking them out? No, she wouldn’t do that. I didn’t like the way her gaze heated over in their direction.
“Care to explain?”
“Aw, you’re jealous. It doesn’t suit you.” She flicked her hand. “They’re one of the lower level farm teams for the Sox.”
“No way.” I saw the logo on one of their shirts.Way.“I wonder why they’re down here.”
“I know. They don’t play near here. Maybe a fun stop on the drive somewhere?”
“Want to go get an autograph? You’re cute enough. I guess,” I teased.
“Nah, I’m good.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m a fan from afar.”
“You’reshy.” I couldn’t believe it. MissI can do anything and will do anythingwas shy. The little-known fact somehow fit her.
“I’m not shy…not really. I once met my favorite player of all time when I was ten. I got too nervous and I puked on my shoes.Andon his cleats. It was horrifying. My dad laughed his ass off and the player was cool about it.”
“Who was it?”
“Paul Konerko.” She bit her lip, one eye closed in shame. “And for a ten-year-old girl in love with everything baseball, he was the coolest thing ever.”
