Page 54 of Boyfriend
Nineteen
Make It a Good One
Weston
I’m waiting outside of El Cortijo—a kickass little restaurant downtown on Bank Street—and practically tapping my toe with impatience.
Abbi isn’t late. But after a long week, I’m just really looking forward to seeing her again, and having excellent Mexican food.
And, fine, excellent sex. I’ve been buzzing ever since our night together, and I need a repeat. Now, preferably.
I've spent the last couple of days thinking about Abbi. Actually, that's the polite way of putting it. It would be more accurate to say that I spent most of my waking hours remembering how good it was to finally spread her out and love her up like I'd been wanting to for months now.
And now I'm hooked. I can't stop thinking about it, or planning our next naked adventure. Here stands a desperate man, hungry for both tacos and sweet, sweet satisfaction.
“Weston!” I swing around to see her trotting down the sidewalk toward me, a hat perched on her head, her cheeks pink from the cold. “Were you waiting long?”
“Nope,” I say, lunging for her. I pull her in and kiss her hello. Very firmly.
She wraps her arms around me and gives it right back. But then she breaks off the kiss before I’m ready. “Well hello, sailor. How was the war?”
“Just been, um, waiting to do that.” I give her a big smile. Then I grab the door handle and usher her inside. “Have you been here before?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s so cute.”
It is, I guess. The restaurant is in one of those old metal diner cars from the fifties. There’s counter seating on the right, and a single row of booths stretching the length of the left side.
Luckily, there’s a spot open in the middle, and a waitress shows us to the table and puts down two paper placemats. “Can I start you off with some drinks? Beer? Sangria? Margarita?”
Abbi’s eyes light up. “I’d love a margarita. On the rocks, no salt. Thanks!”
I order a beer, and then watch as Abbi scans the menu. “God, this looks great.”
“It is.” I chose this place because it’s casual. The food is amazing here, but it isn’t date-night fancy. I didn’t want to make a big statement, you know?
Just a casual dinner between friends.
Friends who are definitely getting lucky later. If I have anything to say about it.
“What's your usual order?” Abbi wants to know.
“The lengua tacos. Oh, and we have to get some guacamole. This is my treat, by the way. Because you won our bet.”
“Yum. This is a treat. Although I'm not convinced I won this bet, Westie.”
The nickname makes me smirk. “You absolutely did. Besides, I was in the mood for Mexican.” I am also in the mood for Abbi, who's happily perusing the specials on a card taped to the napkin dispenser.
When the waitress comes back a few minutes later, Abbi actually giggles as the frosty margarita lands in front of her. “Someone else bringing me a drink! This is awesome."
Well, hell. Now I want to bring her all the drinks. "So how's the job search going?" I ask after the waitress takes our order.
“It’s…going,” she says, propping her cheek in her hand. "I have two interviews coming up in New York, one at a big clothing brand, and one at a bank. But one of the jobs is in social media.”
"That's not good?"
She fingers her silverware. “It could be good. I realize that everyone starts somewhere. But some of these brands are so big that they have a stable of young women who only do social media. It's a game of likes and clicks. But there’s no way to advance. And when you can't stand it anymore, you quit and they just find another fresh-faced grad.”
“So you'll keep looking,” I say.
