“You know,” I tell him, “for a meathead, you’ve got a decent brain on you.”
“You really don’t hear the term ‘meathead’ as much as you used to, have you noticed that?” he asks.
“So, what was it like dating my roommate?” I ask. “I’ve always imagined it’d be the sort of thing where you have to sign a waiver. I’ve gotta tell you, long have I been interested in learning the rationalizations that could lead a man to make such an odd choice for himself.”
“You two are friends, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah, we’re friends,” I tell him. “Not just that, we’ve been friends forever. I mean, so long that neither one of us really remembers why we started hanging out in the first place, you know?”
“You’ve got a lot of baggage,” he says. “It’s really hot.”
“A girl’s got a work with what she’s been given,” I tell him. “Do you do anything besides flirt with the roommates of ex-girlfriends and get the brains you’ve got beat in?”
“Actually, I spend about as much time adding to the contents of my skull as I do having them pounded out of me,” he says. “I’m going to college.”
“You’re a scholar,” I say, nodding. “I’m actually not surprised.”
“Oh, you’re not?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “You’ve got the frat guy thing down solid.”
“You’re pretty when you’re being unreasonably judgmental,” he says, putting his elbows on the table and his jaw onto his hands like a child.
I’m just afraid the mixture of giggling, blushing and trying to hide my face a little might give him the wrong idea.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” a voice comes from a few feet behind me and I turn to see our waiter coming to the table. “We’ve had a bit of an issue with the breadsticks, but we would be happy to offer you stuffed portabella mushrooms instead, free of charge of course, as an apology for the inconvenience.”
“Pretty diverse menu you guys have here,” Mason says. “I have a problem with mushrooms, though.”
“What’s your problem with mushrooms?” I ask.
Mason looks over at me, and I swear the actual words coming out of his mouth are, “It’s personal.”
“Oh god,” I groan.
“My apologies,” Mason says. “It seems the lady would like a few minutes to consider her order.”
“Very good, sir,” the waiter says and cheerily walks away.
“They really do have a very diverse menu here,” Mason says. “I’m not sure if that means the chef can actually pull off Taiwanese, Spanish, French, and American-greasy-spoon all at once or if he just doesn’t have the common sense to know it’s a terrible approach to running a restaurant, but I’m very excited to find out, aren’t you?”
“Would you like to know what your problem is?” I ask.
“That I try way too hard, especially for someone who’s been told in very clear terms that I have no chance of making any kind of headway with you whatsoever?” he asks. “I have been made aware of this fact, but I don’t see much sense in trying to change it now. Maybe I’m a bit set in my ways, but that’s how I roll.”
“No,” I tell him. “You told the waiter I needed a few minutes, but I love me some stuffed portabellas, and I’m beginning to think they never actually gave our order to the kitchen. So, we’re just going to end up picking at salad and slurping down our drinks when I could have something delicious on my plate.”
“I am very sorry I got between you and your mushrooms,” he says. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” I tell him, just hinting at a smile.
Even with the bandage, he’s a good-looking guy. I just don’t know that I want to taint myself by getting too friendly with Jana’s former scratching post.
“Married?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. “Why would I go to dinner with you if I was married?”
“Oh, it’s not that I think you would, although it sounds like you’d do a lot of things to get away from your friend’s mom,” he says.