Page 64 of I Blame the Dimples
Keep it in the towel, Wes. Keep it in the towel.
“Can I do anything to help?” Trip’s voice echoes through the crack I leave in my door and I let my towel fall to the floor.
Is it presumptuous to assume Trip will sneak a glance while I get changed? Probably. But hey, if she wants a peek, she wants a peek. I’m not about to deny my girl one of life’s greatest pleasures.
“Nope, just sit back, relax, and prepare your taste buds to go to heaven.” Pulling a dark green polo shirt over my head, I run a hand through my wet hair and walk back to where Trip is trying to peek in the fridge.
“Oi, get your hands out of there! Don’t ruin the surprise.” Trip jumps back, laughing, her short black dress swishing with the motion. Smooth, slender legs distract me momentarily as I march over to protect the surprise.
“What are we having?” I slap her prying hands away, creating a protective bubble around the fridge with my body. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”
Trip sighs and looks around the room.
“Always so dramatic. Do you want me to set the, uh, TV stand?” I chuckle and shake my head.
Given the mandatory meal plan for freshmen, the kitchen – if you can call it that – is more for emergency ramen than actual food. No oven, no stove, and no dining table; Taber offers first years the bare minimum with a small heating plate and a microwave. Luckily, given the meal on tonight’s menu, there wasn’t much need for anything more than that.
“Nope.” Gorgeous grey eyes narrow with suspicion as I carefully open the fridge and place various containers into a grocery bag. I flash her a dimpled grin and haul the bag over one shoulder.
“Now, if you would be so kind as to follow me…” Letting my voice trail off to build anticipation, I lead Trip out the door and into the hall.
Remnant beams of sunlight streak through the dimly lit corridors, giving the campus an eerie glow. Looking back to make sure Trip’s still with me, I smile at the sight of her eyes fixating on the sinking sun.
“Almost there,” whispering, I slowly push open the side doors.
“Is this… are we in the courtyard?” Delight fills Trip’s voice as familiar cobblestones come into view.
“I can neither confirm nor deny.” I lead her through rows of flowers until we arrive at a makeshift table lit with candles and a checkered cloth thrown over top. Two stolen benches line either side, giving it a slight homeless vibe, but one that fits the scenery perfectly.
Trip gasps, “Oh my gosh, Wes. You did all this?”
I shrug, offering a sheepish smile, “Nico helped. If we get reported to campus security for stealing these benches though, you better come bail us out.”
Those benches were fucking heavy. Nico and I aren’t small guys, but it still took two of us to carry the wooden slabs off to the side. The worst part of the situation? Our struggle was witnessed by no less than five girls walking by, each one stopping to offer assistance.
Nico and I still don’t talk about it.
“Deal.” Laughing, Trip settles herself on the far bench, crossing her delicate legs at the ankles. Letting my eyes roam over the extra two inches of skin revealed, I turn my attention back to the task at hand: carefully placing each container on the relatively small table and passing my guest her napkin and utensils. A plastic knife and fork fall out of Trip’s napkin, and she raises her eyebrow in amusement.
“Curtesy of the cafeteria.” I pass her a paper plate – also from the cafeteria – and wave a hand over the laid-out feast, “Help yourself.”
Trip inches forward to peer into the closest one, a smile stretching across her face as she studies the contents, “I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this… this is perfect.”
I beam at the praise and pass Trip a taco shell.
Full disclosure: I can’t cook for shit. Hence the meal choice that is ninety percent cutting and ten percent cooking.
Hey, I’m not just a pretty face you know.
Grabbing a shell from the pile, I start filling one for myself. “I figured it was the least I could do after our last date ended up in the emergency room. How is Stella doing by the way?”
Trip reaches for the salsa, and I nudge it closer. “I think she’s doing better, I mean it’s hard to tell sometimes. Stella doesn’t open up easily.” A slight frown tugs at Trip’s brows.
I think back to her roommate’s reaction at the hospital. Even as someone who doesn’t know Stella well, it was pretty obvious there was more to the story than just Cody’s injuries.
“Has she opened up to you at all?” I bite into my taco and wince. The ground beef is a little more cooked than I thought.
“We had a good talk this morning, but it definitely stung when I found out how much she’s been keeping from me.” I nod in understanding, trying not to cough from the charred meat stuck in my throat.