Character Gauntlet Feb 2015

Day 2 - The Exes

[WC:1,011]

“Jicama?” Oh it only needed this. George is here. Smiling, no doubt. Put together the way only old money can be, messy hair, clear skin, pressed chinos, a pastel polo shirt and Topsiders.

“Jicama?” Why why why why? She takes a deep breath and turns around. Any longer and it’d be crazy awkward. And anyways, he’s not one to walk away.

“Hi George.” At least Carl didn’t make them wear uniforms like at the waterpark. But her hair is one headshake away from tumbling out of her bun, her shirt has pit stains from all the running around and although the mascara is waterproof, her budget doesn’t extend to waterproof eye liner. Dios sabe what she actually looked like.

“Jicama? It is you.” He is genuinely pleased to see her. Figures. “You look good. How are you?” Anyone else would be telling tales, but he’s never been anything but honest. And relentlessly positive. And a plethora of other good and wonderful things. This would turn into a forever conversation, if she wasn’t careful.

“Um. I’m ok. A little tired.” Is she happy to run into him? Hard to say. The flutter thump in her belly could be nerves, could be need. “You? How’s the family?”

“My parents are great. Dad sold the company, did you know?” She shakes her head, stopping her eyes from rolling only with crazy effort. George never got the point of social questions. When he asked how you were, he cared about the answer. Worse, he assumed everybody else was the same way. Many moons ago, she found that endearing. “… and Timothy made varsity this year.”

“That sounds great. I’m so glad everyone is doing well.” Nothing resembling a question. But fuck, how to escape? She doesn’t want to be rude, and fact is, he’s a great guy.

In fact, if she had a few hours and wasn’t dog-tired keeping this POS park in working order, she’d invite him back to her place, bad idea or no. An unexpected upside of a man who is considerate and eager to please, she learned, is fucking rockstar status, pun intended, in the sack. Downside is, he’d pretty much ruined her for sloppy sex, and that was the only variety the local assholes were offering.

He takes another step towards her, like he's been reading her mind. Close but not crowding, two steps and he’d be on her. Damn he smells delicious, cologne and something muskier. A man smell. It is making her a light-headed. “Are you heading home? Can I take you out for some drinks?”

He came here looking for her. Oh fuck. They really are on the same wavelength. Aquamarine eyes shade to a darker hue, something closer to his pupils, and her nipples tighten in Pavlovian response. “I’ve been on my feet for the last six hours, and my shift doesn’t end for another two.” He comes just the tiniest bit closer. The kind of closer you can pretend to ignore, if you want, or lean into. What her body wants and what her mind wants are rapidly turning into the same thing. And never an interruption when you need one.

“I can wait. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to see you again before I go back.” Right. Important for her to remember that he is going back, back to Dartmouth, back to a life that has no room for her in it.

“Maybe next time then. Great seeing you. Give your family my best.” She delivers the speech with good composure and proper enunciation. Como una blanca qualquiera. The next step is to step forward and around him, hauling ass before stupid happens. She already did the walking away once.

“I’ll wait.” He reaches out and tugs on a curl that’s come loose from her bun. The whole bun comes tumbling down, a fucking untamed mess. Not fast enough to dodge trouble, she’s hesitated too long. Or maybe she wants to play, and fuck the consequences.

They both know this isn’t going anywhere long term, her not answering his phone calls finally forcing him to move on. But that doesn’t mean it can’t go somewhere tonight. Without meaning to, she licks her lips. Busted. He watches her do it and he knows what it means.

“You don’t have to.” Another step closer. Definitely crowding her now. She isn’t paying enough attention, standing here being stupid in lust, because next thing she knows, his hands, plural, are playing with the little curls at the nape of her neck. The situation is well and truly out of control. Nice George, the golden boy destined for bigger and better things than shitty Florida, the one who will take no for an answer, has left the building.

This is the George that wants to eat her up, literally. “I want to. I can walk you home, since it’ll be late.”

Somebody save me. “It’s a long time to wait.” Jicama looks down at her feet, not willing to move away from those magical hands but not ready to commit to anything either.

“So leave early. Carl’s gone for the night. Let Amanda close.”

Homeboy had done some reconnaissance. He isn’t about to do anything to get her fired. More than anybody, he knows how important money is to her. Another excuse gone. Truth is, she’s closed early on more than one occasion for less compelling reasons. But feeling stupid is one thing, and doing stupid, however fucking sexy, is another.

He tilts her head forward. He’s kissing distance now, smelling heavenly. “Play hooky with me bruja.” He’s won and he knows it.

“Let me grab my things from the office then.” God she wants… everything.

He doesn’t let her go, thumbs stroking her neck, hands almost fists in her hair. Smart. She might lock herself in the trailer until she finds her center otherwise. “I’ll come with you, how about?” And just like that, she’s sixteen again, crazy in love and just plain crazy, skipping last period music elective to fuck him senseless in the choir room.