Out in the End Zone (Out in College 2)

The unexpected surge of adrenaline propelled me across campus in record time. I had no regrets about telling Jonesie off, but I was pissed that he’d opened his mouth in front of an audience because I knew how this shit worked. He’d apologize at our next practice…after he made sure Nicole knew I’d stood up for her, which in his mind meant I was hot for the gorgeous brunette who’d been stalking me off and on all summer. He’d make it sound like a sleazy but honest infatuation with a chance of something more. Fuck. This was the stuff that made me grateful I was graduating next May.

The Grill was located in Belmont Shores. The vibe in this section of Long Beach varied from bohemian chic to family-oriented but still hip. I found a parking spot on the street a block away from the restaurant and lucked out again when the hostess led me to an outdoor table for two under a big yellow umbrella. I thanked her, then pulled my sunglasses out of my front pocket and sat back in my chair to partake in some first-class people-watching until Mitch arrived.

The posse of stylish young moms decked in yoga gear pushing strollers, the older woman walking her ginormous French poodle with a bright pink bow tied around her collar. Nothing outlandish today. I opened my menu and fumbled it a moment later when someone tapped my shoulder.

“Hi, there! Sorry I’m late.”

Mitch pulled out the chair across from me and smiled. Damn, he had a nice smile. It was kind of toothy and made his eyes crinkle at the corners and then light up with a sincerity that took my breath away. Most people didn’t smile like that. They guardedly gave you pieces of themselves they thought you wanted instead of just being real.

“No prob. How’s your day goin’?” I stared at the menu unseeing, hoping to get my suddenly erratic heartbeat under control.

“Busy. I had practice early this morning and I didn’t sleep very well, so—” He glanced up when a good-looking waiter stopped by our table to introduce himself and take our drink orders. “I’m fine with water, thank you. And I’m ready to order if you are, Evan.”

“Uh…sure. Go ahead.”

“I’ll have the spinach salad, dressing on the side, hold the bacon and double the avocado. Oh! And can we get a side of fries, please?”

The waiter’s indulgent grin dimmed slightly when he turned to take my order. “I’ll have the burger and I’ll take the bacon my friend is leaving off his salad, and we don’t want a side of fries. We need a plate. Or a platter. The bigger, the better. I’m starving.”

“Got it. What would you like to drink?” the waiter asked.

“Do you have chocolate milk?”

“We should be able to do that. We have milk and there’s chocolate syrup for sundaes so…sure. Anything else?” The waiter addressed both of us, but his gaze roamed back to Mitch, who shook his head and thanked him again.

“He has a crush on you,” I commented when we were alone again. “I betcha I wouldn’t get chocolate milk if it wasn’t for you, so cheers.”

Mitch raised his water glass and tapped it against mine. “Hmm. Two questions. One, what makes you think he has a crush on me? And two, who over the age of ten orders chocolate milk with a burger? Ew.”

I snickered at his “yuck” face and gave him a lopsided pirate’s smile. “Me. And don’t look now, but our waiter is checkin’ you out again.”

Mitch cast a sideways glance at the waiter and gave me a Cheshire cat grin. “He is cute. Should I give him my number?”

I shrugged nonchalantly, though the idea bugged the hell out of me. “I dunno. That’s your business. My business is finding out important shit like…what do you have against chocolate milk?”

He chuckled as he pulled his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and set them on his nose. “Nothing in particular. I’ve read all the studies about how the balance of protein and carbohydrates make it an ideal post-workout drink, but I don’t like it. I haven’t had chocolate milk in a decade. I’d rather have a protein shake.”

I creased my forehead in faux confusion, then lowered my sunglasses and gave him a knowing look as I pumped my fist suggestively. “Oh. You mean like…”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said primly.

I laughed and once I started, I couldn’t stop. Mitch kicked me under the table and then leaned across to smack my hand. He rolled his eyes when I shook my hand as if in pain. Then he dipped his fingers into my water and flicked it at me.

“Hey!”

“Don’t even think about retaliating,” he warned when I reached for my glass.

“You can’t just tell me not to do it. You have to call a truce,” I said. “It’s a rule. Like in football. If you step out of bounds, the play is dead. Not because I told you so but because it’s been discussed and agreed upon by all parties before being written down. No one gets to run willy-nilly up and down the field to get to the end zone.”