Part 5 (1/2)

Lora picked up her uniform polo s.h.i.+rt with the Pizza Oven logo st.i.tched on the left breast. ”No big deal. I have to set him straight about once a month. If I don't, his head gets bigger than a hot-air balloon.”

”That's all it is,” Matthew said. ”He'll cool off in a couple of hours, and they'll be like two peas in a pod again.”

”He'll be whimpering like a whipped pup by the time my s.h.i.+ft's over.” From Lora's expression, I suspected she might be getting fed up with Jock. He was basically a nice guy, but he had a bone-deep proud streak that sometimes made him a little obnoxious. He wasn't one to cut down the less attractive girls or make fun of the sissy guys; he just fancied himself a notch above the regular kids in town, and I could tell his att.i.tude bugged Lora more than she let on.

She stood up. ”I'm on in ten minutes. You guys hang around, and I'll try to sneak you out a slice.”

Matthew smiled at me. ”Want to have a c.o.ke and talk awhile?” His eyes twinkled like Christmas lights. How could I refuse?

We chatted about nothing through three sodas and a stolen slice of pepperoni pizza. I liked the way Matthew looked at me, his eyes never leaving mine as I prattled on about my older brother, my parents, and my nonexistent plans for the future. He smiled at all the right times and frowned when appropriate, never interrupting my train of thought. He spoke almost reverently about his college football career. He was

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concerned about making the right choices. His decisions would affect his entire life.

It amazed me how he handled all that pressure and still took time to listen to me, to make me feel important. The great Matthew Carter could be a total jerk and still get any girl in school, but that wasn't his style.

That's why I liked him.

We waved goodbye to Lora, and Matthew walked me to my car. In gentlemanly fas.h.i.+on, he took my keys, turned the lock, and opened the door for me. ”Your carriage awaits, m'lady,” he said, in a terrible British accent.

”Why, thank you, kind sir.” I attempted a curtsy, but it was about as believable as his accent.

”Uh, Claire, I was wondering if I could ask you something?” He shuffled his feet, leaning on one foot and then the other, and thrust his hands into his pockets.

”Sure. What is it?”

”You know there's this fall dance after the game Friday night?”

I nodded.

”I was wondering, if you're not busy or anything, if you'd like to go with me.” He looked like a little kid begging for a piece of candy.

”I think I can fit you into my busy schedule,” I said, smiling. ”But I've had sooooo many offers.”

He grinned and swatted a gnat away from his face. ”You've got guys all over school after you, and you don't even know it, do you?”

”Liar.” I slid into the driver's seat and slipped the key into the ignition. ”I'll see you tomorrow at school, okay?”

He closed the door and leaned against the frame. ”Meet me in the morning by the soda machine?”

I nodded and cranked the engine. Wow! Matthew Carter had asked me out. Was this my lucky day or what?

CHAPTER 8.

It's 11:45 by the time I break away from the office, but I'll still beat the lunch rush. As I turn into Choppy's parking lot, my palms get slippery on the steering wheel. I find a s.p.a.ce near the door, make sure Rebecca's car is in its regular spot, and glance in the rearview mirror to check that my lipstick isn't smeared. I smooth my eyebrows with my finger and pop a wintergreen mint into my moutha lot of preparation for a woman who won't notice. Oh well, one never knows when a potential customer might be sitting at the next table, so maybe my primping won't be in vain.

Rebecca is at the hostess station when I walk in. My guard is down, and when she smiles, I let my gaze linger too long. Feeling hungry for her, I s.h.i.+ft my focus to the oil print over her left shoulder. If she sees how red my face is, she might get suspicious. My feelings will be exposed, and my only relief from h.e.l.l will look at me as if I've violated her.

”What are you doing up here?” I ask, trying not to grin.

She blows a lock of hair from her eyes and reaches for a menu.

”Can't find good help these days.” She glances behind her to the mostly-empty tables. ”It's all yours. Any place special you'd like to sit?”

”Anything's fine.” I follow her to a table in the back, near her office. Her hair reaches an inch below her shoulders and bounces from side to side when she walks. It takes all my composure not to walk too closeclose enough to catch the scent of her shampoo or graze my shoulder against hers. G.o.d, I'm pitiful.

”Enjoy your lunch,” she says, opening the menu for me.

I peek over the top of the menu to watch her walk away. I love the way her hips sway. Her walk is like the soothing flow of the ocean at low tide, and I catch myself getting lost in a fantasy of rocking to sleep in her arms. A moment later, I snap back to reality and try to concentrate on the menu as she seats four old ladies at the table next to mine.

One of the ladies turns to me. ”Pardon me, but is this seat taken?”

she asks, putting her hand on the chair at my right.

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”No, ma'am.”

She holds up a s.h.i.+ny metal cane. ”May I borrow it to hold my walking stick?”

”Of course.” I get up and help her move the extra chair to their table.

As I'm sitting back down, Rebecca sneaks up behind me and helps me with my own chair. ”You're such a lady,” she whispers.

I turn my head and find my lips dangerously close to her cheek.

”Be kind to widows and children. I think it says that in the Bible.”

Rebecca taps my shoulder lightly. ”I owe you a drink.”

”Why?” But she has spun around and is halfway to the front door.