Page 58 of Dirty Chorus

“How long?” I shuffle my feet under the booth and my feet hit the toe caps of his Converse.

“What was your rule when it came to dating?” He still isn't meeting my gaze and unravels his napkin. “You're half a virgin. Why didn’t you go all the way with that asshole?” His silverware clanks as he dabs the napkin over the small spill he made.

“I wanted to date for a whole year...”

“Then I’ll wait a year.” He crosses his arms on the table, and his gaze moves outside to the parking lot.

I stare at my lap, my wrists turning red from how long I’ve been sitting on my fingers. “Yeah...” I say, and my heartbeat drops to the tips of those same fingers. “... I’ve had plenty of guys tell me they would wait, and look where it got me.”

“I’m not some high schooler who just graduated.”

“Neither was he...”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not.”

“Listen to yourself. You dated a complete asshole. I don’t understand your intentions with me other than trying to take advantage of me. I can’t tell if you're trying to sabotage yourself or what. I’m not going to sit here and cave into it.”

“You almost did...”

“And you would have hated me for it. I’d just be like all the other guys, right? I’ll wait a damn year.”

“I have only two weeks before I don’t have a choice. I can’t wait.” I wiggle my hands from underneath my bottom, cross them over the table, and throw my head down. “I have to play Dirty Roulette.”

“No you don’t. He’s just some asshole having a power trip. You don’t need to do anything.” He doesn’t realize Brody said he was going to set fire to the record store, and with how he’s been stalking me around town, I don’t think he's just spitting words.

“I will lose everything. I won’t have a scholarship.”

“Then I’ll come to the party,” Noah says. I lift up my head, resting my chin on my arms, and I watch him pick up his coffee mug, steaming.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to get in.”

“Why are you making this more difficult than it needs to be? I’ll hop the fence. I’ll fall down the chimney in a Santa suit. We can practice spinning a bottle and playing poker. Maybe we’ll beat the algorithm and I can just win you and get you out of there.”

“But we’d have to...” I pause, with it stuck in my throat mixing with bile. “And I have to film it.”

“It’s easy to fake it. Keep the bra on, throw a blanket over us, and you pretend you’re Samantha Jones. We will count to sixty and call it good.”

I cover my mouth with a giggle. “Sixty seconds?”

He crosses his arms and leans back in the booth, shrugging his shoulders with puckered lips. “I’ll do it for you, and I’ll wait a year for you if you honestly give me a chance, but you have to realize I don’t date. I’ve never been serious with a girl, and you’re the prettiest thing I ever found, and you might be a little unhinged, but I’ll stick around. I’ll try.”

“I don’t want to wait a year.” I sit up, putting my hands in my lap and playing with them. “Maybe I need a different rule.”

“Okay, and what would that be?” he asks.

“When we both know it’s the right time?” I bring my shoulders up to my cheeks with a big smile on my face, knowing that I really need to brush my teeth. But he flashes me a crooked smile.

“And you need to be sober... and you need to let me initiate it. I’ll come around, but we need to slow down.”

We are quiet for a moment, and I glance at my untouched coffee and find the little bowl of creamer and start peeling back the seal, pouring several until the coffee is at the brim. Noah is staring out the window again and sits up straight. His brows furrow as an engine revs outside the café, a camaro pulls into the parking lot. “That’s him again?”

I darted my gaze out the window, and the Camaro with tinted windows parks crooked. Noah is sliding off the seat as our waitress comes over with her pen and notepad.

“Fuck this guy!”

“No... don’t!” I scoot to the edge of the booth, but it’s too late. He slides past the people waiting to be seated and throws open the front door. I scoot closer to the window, and even the waitress behind me tilts her body to look outside. Noah holds up his arms, shouting, as he walks into the parking lot. I can’t hear or make out any of the words. The only sound is the Camaro revving its engine, tires squealing, speeding forward, and Noah leaps up onto the sidewalk, slamming both fists into the hood of the car.