I raked my teeth across my bottom lip and grabbed one of the unused napkins, then a pen from my side pocket.
It wasn’t my MO to invite guys to my home; I preferred their place, the bathroom of a bar, or the occasional alley, but fuck it. There was something about Nathan. I wanted to both fuck him six ways to Sundayandmake sure he got a proper night’s rest after. Working three jobs and putting himself through school couldn’t be easy.
After jotting down my address and digits on the napkin, I pocketed it for now and finished my soda.
When Nathan returned, we paid for our food and left. He’d already had a ten-dollar bill ready to go, so I refrained from offering to pay for him. It wasn’t a date, and I didn’t wanna be too pushy. Or make him uncomfortable.
But for the love of all that was holy, I hoped he was into me and into bottoming.
If nothing else, he was at least interested in getting to know me. On the way back to my truck, he asked what music I liked and if I’d seen any good movies lately. First of all, rock, hard rock, and punk rock. Some country rock worked too. Secondly, I had to think.
“I sawThe Patriotwhen that came out,” I replied. “Before then… I don’t go to the movies that often, but my brother and I did seeThe Boondock Saintsa few months ago. Awesome movie. Oh, and I rentedDeep Impact, Boiler Room,andStepmomthe other week.”
He did a double take at me and almost steered his bike into a fire hydrant. “You rentedStepmom?”
“No fucking joke, I cried in my hoagie.”
“Oh my God,” he laughed. “That’s…kind of adorable.”
I grinned. I could live with adorable. “What about you? Wait, don’t say anything. I wanna guess what you’re into.” We crossed the street, and I ran a hand through my hair. “Am I getting close if I say singer-songwriter pop and jazz?”
“What the fuck?” Okay, he was offended. “Do you think I wear turtlenecks and drink port too?”
I cracked up. Well, excuse me! He was a psychology major who rode a bike—what was I supposed to think? As if he didn’t attend fancy wine mixers and discuss Jung. Come on.
“Lemme take a stab at movies too,” I said. “You’ve definitely discussedGood Will Huntingwith your psychology buddies.American History X, too. I’m sure you’re alternative enough to have seenTrainspottingandFargo?—”
“Fargowas brilliant.”
“Fargowas fucking boring,” I corrected.
“Well, it’s noStepmom.”
I shot him a look.
He grinned, pleased as punch, and nudged my arm with his. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m about as deep as a puddle. I listen to mainstream rock, the last movies I rented wereHeatandShawshank, and I haven’t tired of playingThe Legend of Zelda.”
The game was already a classic, I’d give him that, andHeatwas great.
“Okay, you scored some cool points there,” I said. “But do you listen to John Mayer?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “No, but apparently my ex did after I broke up with him.”
And we had ironclad confirmation. I was impressed by that cocky delivery too. It didn’t seem like him.
“Damn, boy. You out there breakin’ hearts, huh?”
He snorted. “He was a catty asshole, so I hope I broke something.”
I smirked and pulled out my car keys, and I gestured for the side street coming up.
“Good for you.”
When we got to the truck, I dropped the tailgate and jumped up so I could secure his bike. He lifted it for me, and maybe I flexed unnecessarily when I accepted it. Sue me. He seemed to like my biceps, and I couldn’t flash my abs when I was wearing a tee.
“There we go. You’re ready to ride the way God intended. In a gas-guzzling truck.”
He shook his head in amusement. “I can hear Al Gore crying somewhere.” He tilted his head as I jumped back down. “Are you religious?”
