I take a step backward and watch as he enters the cab to go upstairs.
We walk the three blocks it takes to get to the smoothie shop, passing the time with small talk. Colson tells me he works at a gym. I share my afternoon with the kids from the daycare. We laugh over one of the kids calling one of the others a fart face and comfortably fall into line when we get to Sweet Smoothies. I order a meal replacement smoothie, filled with peanut butter, blueberries, and other fruit. He gets some kind of tropical creation with mangoes and pineapple. I offer to pay for both since I invited him, and surprisingly, he lets me. Probably because he paid for the burritos that day. We find a table in the back corner with a window overlooking the street.
“You come here often?” he asks after sipping his smoothie and sliding into a seat.
“When I have the time.”
He nods and stretches his legs out under the table. His leg brushes mine, and butterflies catch in my belly. He motions to his drink. “It’s actually not that bad.”
“Mine is better.”
He pushes his cup across the table. “Take a sip then decide.”
I look down at his cup. He wants me to share with him? Isn’t that weird? We’re friends, sure, but well enough to start swapping spit through straws?
He’s staring at me and I realize I’m talking way too long to take a sip. My hand clutches my own drink because I’m not totally sure if I want to offer it up, but then I relent, my stomach twisting to put my lips somewhere his have touched.
I push it toward him and joke. “One sip, and one sip only.”
“And if I’m feeling a bit greedy and take more than that?”
My cheeks flame, very aware of his flirtatious tone. “Then I might just have to retaliate.”
What would I do if he took more than a sip? Honestly, probably nothing more than stare at his drop dead sexy face and let him get away with it.
“Now that’s something I’d be interested in seeing.” He nudges my foot under the table. “Go on. Tell me how fucking good I did at picking that flavor.”
Overly aware of the fact that his lips were wrapped around his straw not even a minute ago, I slurp some up and let the yellow orange creation spread across my tongue.
Oh wow.
There’s mango and pineapple, a hint of coconut, and strawberry?
Yeah, definitely some kind of berry.
“Too much peanut butter,” he offers, bringing me back to his judgmental opinion of mine.
I swallow, sneaking in one more sip for good measure, internally smitten over being the one who’s feeling greedy for more. “You don’t like peanut butter?”
“I like it,” he says, “on sandwiches with jelly.”
“It’s filling,” I argue, handing his back.
He smirks. “So are sandwiches.”
Swirling his straw in his cup, he says, “Thank you for this, by the way.”
“You paid last time.”
He takes another sip then dives full blast into the good, the bad, and the ugly. Aka, the situation with my dad. “How’re things with your family?”
“My sister texted me last night to tell me that our mom is already planning out what to make for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“I don’t want to go, obviously. How the hell am I supposed to get through the holidays knowing everything I do, Colson? How?”
“You could skip. Fake sick.”
