On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“Did you say no?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I lied. “Maybe he was nervous and the second time will be better.”

“I highly doubt it. Do you have plans for this weekend?”

“I’m not sure. Nadira mentioned something since there’s no game this weekend. What about you? Surely you have a date or two lined up.”

“I don’t typically do those,” he said, “but if I did, I can guarantee you that I would know better than to take someone like you to the movies and dinner if I wanted to make an impression.”

I blushed and sipped my coffee.

“I’ll probably analyze the footage from my last game,” he said, changing the subject. “I want to improve on the three hundred seventy-five yards and twenty-two completions I threw.”

“Three hundred ninety-five.”

“What?”

“You threw for three hundred ninety-five yards.” I set down my cup. “And you had twenty-three completions.”

“I thought you weren’t that big on football.” He looked impressed.

“I’m not big on school spirit. I love football, though. Always have.”

“Hmmm.” He smiled. “Good to know.”

“Can I go back to reading my book now?”

“No.” He moved it to his side of the table. Then he pulled a folder from his backpack. “I need your help with my feminist Shakespeare papers first.”

“Those aren’t due until next month,” I said, pulling out his syllabus. “Not only that, but those should be some of the easiest papers for you to write.”

"If that were the case, I wouldn't be here asking you about it."

“Just make up whatever you think a female is thinking when she’s having an orgasm and ‘dying a thousand little deaths’ since that’s Shakespeare’s true interpretation and you’ll be fine.”

“Better yet,” he said, clicking his pen. “Why don’t you tell me that and we’ll call this a night?”

“I’m not the right person to ask.”

“Why not? Just think about the last time you had sex and tell me what was going through your mind when you came.” He sipped his coffee. “No judgment here.”

I sighed. “I wouldn’t know.”

"Is it because you tend to black out mentally during sex?" He clicked his pen again. "It might be easier for me to convey that idea instead."

“It’s because I’ve never had sex.”

He spat out his coffee and his eyes went wide. Then he just stared at me.

For a long time.

“Are you done, Grayson?”

“My apologies,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Not everyone has spent their entire college career sleeping with everything that moves.”

“I haven’t had sex at all this semester.”

“I’m sure that’s a personal record for you.”

“We’re not talking about me. You’re a virgin?” He still looked surprised. “Were you ever going to tell me this?”

“I’m not sure when it would’ve been necessary for me to bring it up, so, no. I was never going to tell you that.”

“Interesting.” He shut his notebook. “Good for you.”

“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”

“I’m not.” He looked genuine.

“Hey, guys.” The owner stepped next to our table and set down two fresh lattes. “I’m going to have to close a little early today. My four o’clock barista didn’t show and I need to pick up my daughter from the babysitter. I’ll make this up to you on another rainy day, I promise.”

“No problem,” we said in unison. “Thank you.”

I tossed my things into my bag and headed down the steps, with Grayson close behind.

Stepping outside, I let up my umbrella and looked up at him. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course. Where’s your car?”

“I walked here today.” I shrugged. “My dorm is only a few blocks away.”

“Let me drive you.” He pulled car keys out of his pocket and the black SUV in front of us flashed its lights.

I didn’t get a chance to think about it. Grayson pressed his hand against the small of my back and walked me over to the passenger side. He opened the door and waited for me to buckle my seatbelt before moving to his side.

“Which dorm do you stay in?” He looked over at me as he cranked the engine.

“Lothrop Hall.”

“That’s more than a few blocks away.” He steered his car onto Forbes Avenue and turned on the windshield wipers. For the entire ride, neither of us spoke, and the rain pelting against his hood was the only sound between us.

When he pulled up to my dorm, he put the car in park and faced me. “Are you really going to give a second chance to someone who made you pay for everything on a first date?”

“Maybe.” I knew I didn’t sound convincing. “Not everyone in college gets tons of scholarship money and gifts of cars and coffee like you. I can’t afford that much either, you know.”

"I work every summer for my money," he said. "And when my father died, he left me his pension and this car we're sitting in. Those things were willed to me; they're not gifts."