“You know them?” the man next to me asks.
I shake my head. He doesn’t need to know my business.
We fall silent, and I finish the popcorn in my hand, letting my head fall back as I look up to the high ceiling and the antique gold arches overhead. He sits next to me, and I breathe in and out slowly, despite the hammering in my chest.
Why am I nervous? Is it Jay?
No, I’m not even thinking about him at the moment.
People chat around us, waiting for the movie to start, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, and I don’t really care. My skin feels warm.
“So, what are you studying at Doral State?” he asks.
I shoot him a surprised look. How does he know where I go to school?
Serial killer.
But then he gestures to my bag on the floor, and I see the keychain hanging off it with the university emblem emblazoned on the face.
Oh, duh.
I sit up. “Landscape Design,” I tell him. “I want to make outside spaces pretty.”
“That’s nice. I work in construction.”
I flash him a half-smile. “So, you make inside spaces pretty then.”
“No, not really.”
I laugh at his forlorn tone like he’s so bored with what he does.
“I make them functional,” he corrects me.
He turns hazel eyes on me, warm and piercing, but then his gaze drops to my mouth for a split moment, and a flutter hits my stomach. He quickly looks away, and I drop my eyes, having a hard time catching my breath.
Clearing my throat, I bend down and pull out the box of donuts from my bag and place them on the tray, swinging the little table in front of me and lifting the lid.
The sweet scent immediately hits my nose, and my stomach growls.
I glance back at the projection window, wondering if the movie is starting soon, because I was saving these for that, but now I’m starving.
I feel the guy’s eyes on me, and I glance at him, explaining the donuts, “It’s my birthday. In addition to the wine, my boss gave me the only cake she could get at a drive-thru.”
I pick one up and lean back, putting my feet back on the arm rest in front of me.
“You’re going to eat all six donuts?” he questions.
I stop the pastry two inches from my mouth and glare at him. “Would that disgust you or something?”
“No, I’m just wondering if I get one.”
I smile and wave at the box, telling him to help himself.
He picks up the plain glazed, and I’m not sure if he’s the no-frills type or just trying to save the special sprinkle ones for me, but either way, I kind of like it. We sit back and eat, but I can’t help stealing glances at him every once in a while.
His brown hair is light, and his eyes look blue, green, or hazel depending on what kind of light is flashing across them from the screen. He has a little stubble on his oval-shaped face, a sharp nose, and my gaze is drawn to the way his angular jaw flexes as he chews. There’s the faintest of lines around his eyes, so he might be more than thirty, but it could just be all his time working in the sun, too. He’s tall, strong, fit, and tan, and his eyes suddenly flash to the side as if he senses me staring. I turn my eyes forward again.
Dammit.
That’s okay, right? It’s normal to find other people attractive. It happens. I mean, Scarlett Johansson is attractive. That doesn’t mean I’m interested in her.
I take another nibble of my donut, my gaze darting to the side again, taking in his arms and the various tattoos. Black gears and bolts, like a robot skeleton, some tribal work that definitely says he was a 90’s kid, and I can just make out what I think is a pocket watch that looks like it’s trying to break free of his skin. It’s like a hodgepodge without any discerning theme, but it’s beautiful work. I wonder what the story is behind them.
I take another bite, the pink glaze and rainbow sprinkles sending electric shocks to the back of my jaw and making me crave the whole damn thing in my mouth at once.
“You know, I really kind of want abs,” I say, chewing, “but these are really good.”
He breaks into a laugh, looking at me and chuckling.
“What?”
“Nothing. You’re just…” He looks away as if searching for words. “You’re just kind of, like, interesting or…something?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I mean.” And then he blurts out, “Cute,” as if just remembering. “You’re cute, I mean.”
My stomach flips, and heat warms my cheeks like I’m in fifth grade again when it was such a compliment for a guy you like to tell you you’re cute. I know he means my personality and not how I look, but I kind of like it.