“I’m good with gas station pizza or three-day-old hot dogs at this point,” she replies.
After pulling into the station, I park in front of the diner. We can fill up the tank before we leave. Right now, I need to get her fed. Grabbing my phone and the keys, we both climb out of the car. I follow along behind Callista, reaching in front of her to open the door, then leading her inside with my hand on the small of her back.
“Sit anywhere you’d like,” an older waitress calls out.
I spy a booth in the back of the room and lead us to it. Like the gentleman I am, I help Callista out of her coat and hang it on the hook that towers over the booth.
“I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
Before I can slide into the booth, there are two cups of coffee and two glasses of water sitting in front of us.
“I’m Betty. I’ll give you a few minutes,” the waitress, who looks like she’s my grandma’s age, says before walking back behind the counter.
I open the menu and begin to look it over. I’m starving. It all looks good.
“Thank you. I feel so much better.” She wrinkles up her nose at the cup of coffee.
Reaching over, I take the coffee cup sitting in front of Callista and push it aside. I know she hates the smell and the taste. I do the same with mine. I’ve never been much of a coffee drinker. “What sounds good?” I ask, handing her a menu.
“All of it. I think I want to order breakfast. There is just something about these small diners and their breakfast.”
“That does sound good,” I say, looking over the menu at my options.
“I can’t decide if I want the pancakes or the french toast,” she muses.
“What can I get ya?” Betty asks, stepping beside our booth.
I defer to Callista, already knowing I’m going to order the opposite of what she does just in case she changes her mind. I’ve done it a million times when we’re all out together, and so far, she’s yet to catch on.
“I’ll have the pancakes and sausage links, please,” she says, handing Betty her menu.
“And for you?”
“I’ll have the french toast and a side order of bacon.”
“Something wrong with the coffee?” she asks, eyeing the two mugs that have been pushed to the side.
“No. Just not coffee drinkers,” I tell her.
“How about some OJ?”
“Perfect,” Callista answers before I have a chance to.
“Let’s see this list you’ve been reading from all day.” I hold my hand out for her phone. She doesn’t hesitate to unlock the screen and hand it over. I scroll through until I reach a section we’ve yet to touch on. “My turn.” I grin at her.
“Hit me,” she says, taking a drink of the OJ that Betty just placed in front of her.
“Would you rather sneeze every time you orgasm or orgasm every time you sneeze?”
“Definitely every time I sneeze,” she answers without missing a beat.
“Really?”
She points a finger at her chest. “Single girl here. Orgasms are few and far between.”
My cock twitches and I want to tell her I can solve that problem for her. She’s smiling, her brown eyes twinkling, and I realize I no longer want to hold back from her. I’ve already pushed the limits, and we’re only a few hours into this road trip. “You need some help with that?” I ask. My voice is husky, even to my own ears.
She sputters and coughs, tapping her chest. “Wh-What?” she asks. Her eyes are wide, but the way she bites down on her bottom lip tells me she’s not entirely against the idea.
My hand slides across the table and links with hers. I open my mouth to say… what I’m not exactly sure. Part of me wants to beg her to let me be the man to give her what she needs, but that’s not me. I don’t beg. Thankfully, Betty appears before I can fall to that level.
“Here you go.” She sets our plates in front of us and gives each of us a fresh glass of orange juice.
“What about you?” Callista asks. Her voice is soft and breathy. Sexy.
“What about me?”
“Sneezing during or….” Her voice trails off.
Avoidance, I can deal with. It’s not a refusal. “I’m going to have to go with every time. Things get messy, and I can’t exactly hide my body’s reaction to an orgasm. No man wants to be hard at random times. That could become an issue.” Like now. Thankfully the table is hiding what she does to me.
“Right,” she says, her face turning pink. Fuck me, but I can’t help but wonder how far that blush travels down her chest.
“Next question.” I pick up her phone and hand it to her. She wipes her mouth and unlocks the screen, handing it back to me. “Would you rather send nudes to your boss or your parents?” I read the question.
“My parents. My boss is a world-renowned photographer. She’d be too critical. What about you?”
“Either. Cap would get a kick out of it, and you’ve met my parents. They’d probably get a kick out of it too.” I shrug. As far as the parents’ department goes, we both hit the lottery. Our families are very similar, except for the fact I’m an only child.
“You’re right.” She chuckles before taking another bite of her pancakes. I watch as she chews and swallows, then points at my plate. “Those look good,” she comments.
“Try some.” I push my plate forward, and she doesn’t hesitate to cut off a huge bite of french toast, drag it through the syrup, and shovel it into her mouth. “Oh, God,” she moans.
She’s trying to kill me.
“Next question,” I say, reaching over and taking a huge fork full of her pancakes. She grins and swipes a slice of bacon. “Would you rather have to eat moldy bread once a day, or never eat a meal with me again?” I changed that one up a little, but I need something from her. Something that tells me that she’s feeling me, feeling this tension between us.
“Moldy bread,” she says, shoving my last piece of bacon into her mouth.
I never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my entire life. “Me too,” I say, my voice gravelly. I clear my throat. “Okay, next question.” My eyes scan the screen until I land on the one I want. “Would you rather only be able to be on the bottom during sex or only the top?”
“Neither.” She’s quick to reply. “Sex is supposed to be mutual. When it’s good, there is so much passion that it’s about the connection with the other person, not the position. I want the freedom to do what feels good at the time.” She takes a sip of her orange juice. “Then again, I’m single so….” She shrugs.
“Spontaneity. I understand what you’re trying to say. I understand that a schedule of sorts works for some, but that’s one of my biggest fears. Becoming complacent. I want a partner in life, and I want to live life with them. I don’t want to know that every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday we’re going to have sex. I want to be able to roll over in the middle of the night and make slow love to her. Or come home after a bad day and fuck it away.” Her eyes widen, but that doesn’t hide the way her chest is rapidly rising and falling with each breath she takes. “I want to know that the person I’m with is with me for me, and that we both have the freedom to be ourselves and take what we need, as well as give what the other needs. Partnership.” I take in her slack jaw, showing her surprise at my answer. “Oh, and you broke the rules. You’re supposed to pick one or the other, remember?” I smirk.