Out in the Offense (Out in College 3)

I burst out laughing and suddenly, I was very glad I’d called Rory. “Buttons is black?”

“Mostly. She has a white paw. She’s pretty damn cute.”

“I bet.”

We were silent for a moment until Rory spoke again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Whatcha doin’ now?”

I slowed behind a red Corvette and prepared to turn into a neighborhood strip mall on University Street. “I’m going to grab something to eat and—”

“What are you hungry for?” he intercepted.

“Uh, I don’t know.”

“Do you like pasta?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Come over.”

“Now?”

“Yeah. I’m making fettuccine with chicken and veggies. The water is boiling for the pasta and the chicken is still in the oven. If you come now, it’ll still be warm when you arrive. Do you have your statistics book?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Perfect. You’re hungry, I’ve got food and a cute cat you oughtta meet. Your call, though. No pressure.”

I nodded mutely and smiled, though the gesture was lost on him. “That sounds awesome. Thank you.”

“Cool. I’m easy to find,” he said before rattling off directions. “Call me if you get lost. See you soon, QB.”

Rory lived in a decrepit-looking square stucco building that dated to sometime around the middle of the last century. Rusted ironwork trimmed the doorways of the otherwise plain façade. It might have seemed ornate and charming a few decades ago, but now it looked like dingy lace pasted on cement. I glanced at the clumsy banister leading to the second story before carefully making my way up the stairs. A single fixture between plain doors cast a dull light in the open corridor. I noted the cobwebs along the ceiling and on the dead cactus plant next to his neighbor’s door. Pieces of an argument filtered above the hum of traffic from the nearby freeway. And if I craned my neck I could probably see the Nike billboard I’d passed when I’d exited. This place reminded me of a sad motel or a set for a spooky Halloween movie. I knocked at apartment 2B and almost jumped out of my skin when the door swung open immediately.

“Hey, there.”

“Christ, you scared me,” I said, clutching the strap of my backpack with a scowl before meeting Rory’s amused gaze.

Damn, he was sexy. His eyes crinkled at the corners, softening his chiseled features, giving him a boyishly handsome look that went well with his snug retro Bugs Bunny T-shirt and workout shorts. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep any involuntary murmurs of approval to myself.

“Sorry about that.” Rory chuckled and widened his arms in welcome. “Come on in. Dinner’s ready.”

I stepped inside and inhaled the delicious aroma emanating from the galley kitchen to my right. “It smells amazing.”

“I’m a fuckin’ awesome cook.” He winked playfully before heading to the stove to light the burner under a pan of vegetables.

“And so modest too. Can I do anything to help?” I asked, setting my backpack on one of the two barstools at the narrow counter space.

“Nope. As soon as the veggies are sautéed, we’ll be ready to eat. Want something to drink?”

“Yes, please. Water is fine. Where’s Buttons?”

Rory pulled a water bottle from the small fridge behind him and handed it over, then pointed at a basket next to the sofa.

“She’s hiding. She’ll make an appearance if she decides you’re worthy. In the meantime, there’s bread on the counter. Help yourself. I’ll bring dinner out.”

I thanked him, then twisted the cap from the water bottle and took a generous sip before rounding the corner in search of the bread. I was ravenous. I bit into the baguette with gusto before turning to check out my surroundings.

Rory’s apartment was tiny. Probably half the size of mine and much older. But unlike the rough exterior, it was…pleasant. Surprisingly so. A short wall delineated the narrow kitchen from the main living area. There was just enough room for a sofa, an ottoman, a TV console, and a smallish television. Two barstools were tucked under the small peninsula by the cut-out in the kitchen wall. The palette was basic “dude”…dark leather against stark white walls, though a large red throw rug anchored the room and provided a nice splash of color. It was simple—but tidy and very clean.

“Your place is cool,” I commented when he entered the room, carrying two plates and a large bowl.

“Thanks. Let’s sit on the sofa. We have more room to eat there,” he said decisively as he set his burden on the coffee table. “Help yourself. I’ll get some forks, napkins, and extra veggies.”

I obeyed and quickly got to work, scooping chicken fettuccine Alfredo onto both plates. Rory joined me a minute later, handing over the silverware before taking a seat next to me. I shot a bashful sideways glance at him as I reached for a napkin.

“Do you eat like this every night?”

“It’s really nothing special. I make sauces in bulk and freeze them. Then it’s just a matter of adding protein and veggies. By the way, this Alfredo is a healthy version. If you want to drown it in parmesan, feel free. I won’t be offended. Cheers.” He tapped his water bottle against mine and winked.