The Junior (College Years 3)

“I do,” I say without hesitation, visualizing chips and salsa and a giant margarita. “I definitely want you to buy me dinner, Caleb. And a drink. Maybe two.”

“I’m not twenty-one yet,” he says.

“You will be soon,” I remind him, knowing for a fact that he turns twenty-one in August.

“Right and your birthday is in February,” he says. “You’ll be twenty-three.”

It should not charm me that he remembers my birthday. It shouldn’t charm me at all.

“I’ve always liked older women,” he continues. “They’ve shown me a thing or two over the years.”

I roll my eyes. Hard. “Gross. You just ruined everything.”

“Did that get me out of buying you dinner?” He sounds hopeful.

“Nope. You’re still on the hook for buying me some tacos and a margarita,” I say.

“Damn,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound upset. Not at all.

I think he’s pleased.

Five

Caleb

Yet another argument with Gracie that felt more like foreplay. Is she really that pissed I told Noelle we were a couple?

Yeah, okay. Probably. But shit, what was I supposed to do? That girl wouldn’t get off my dick. She was practically planning our wedding. I had to say something to stop her from chasing after me.

Looks like declaring Gracie as my girlfriend might’ve done the trick.

We argued, but now Gracie is happy with me paying for her margarita, which she is currently sucking down like a champ. We’re at the Mexican restaurant of her choice, a place I’ve never been to, but I’m digging the chips and salsa so I’m good.

The restaurant is busy, and there are big screen TVs everywhere, broadcasting the same baseball game. The San Francisco Giants, the local favorite. “I used to play baseball,” I say to Gracie.

Her gaze fills with interest. “Really? When?”

“Started out playing T-ball. Played league for a while. Even played the first two years of high school, but quit after my sophomore year. Got tired of it. Wanted to focus on football instead,” I explain before I grab another chip and dunk it in salsa.

“Were you any good?” she asks.

I grin. “I was fucking great, if you must know. My coach tried to convince me to stay on the team, but I wouldn’t.”

“You could’ve continued both and been a double threat,” she points out.

“It was a lot of work. Too many practices. I wanted to have fun the last two years in high school. Not practice all the time,” I admit.

“Hmm. Well, I guess this is where I admit I played basketball,” she tells me, her expression vaguely mortified.

“No shit?” This doesn’t surprise me. She’s pretty athletic. She runs a lot in the early morning, though I’m not a fan of that. More that I don’t want her to get hit by a car or attacked by some creep or whatever.

Gracie nods. “In middle school and most of high school. I was on the track team too. I lettered in track all four years.”

“You weren’t a cheerleader?”

“No. Sorry to ruin that fantasy,” she says with a smile, just before she reaches for that drink again. Her glass is half empty and the margarita was huge in the first place, so girl is gonna get lit here real soon. And Gracie is always a good time when she’s got alcohol in her.

“You’d look good in a short skirt,” I tell her, not holding back.