Page 11 of Let It Be Me

She crosses her arms. “Okay, tell me.”

I sense a tiny bit of trepidation in her voice, which makes me feel bad for teasing her. Not bad enough to stop, though. “So after my training session, I’m walking out and I see him chattingwith a couple soccer girls.” I watch her mouth twitch. “Then he walked away from them.”

She blinks. “This is riveting.”

“I’m getting to the good part. I follow him across the quad and he heads to the student union. You know, the dining hall?”

“I’m familiar with the place where we’ve eaten our meals for the last three years. Do you have a point to make?”

“So he looks around at the food options: sushi, burgers, pasta, salads. All good shit. You know what he eats?” I take a deep breath like I’m breaking some seriously bad news. “A sandwich. From Stacks.”

Ruby blinks in rapid succession. Then she laughs and shoves me. “You are such an asshole.” She shakes her head, returning to the box of CDs.

“What? You need to know this guy has shit taste in sandwiches!” Ruby pretty much nails every food she makes, but she has some kind of dark magic with sandwiches. I don’t know where she learned it, but the combinations of flavors and textures she comes up with are seriously good enough to serve at a wedding. And the garbage they serve at Stacks, our campus sandwich shop, has honestly made me long for the smooshed, room-temp tuna sandwiches on white bread my dad used to pack me in kindergarten.

“Maybe he was just in a rush,” Ruby says. “There’s never a line at Stacks.”

“Or maybe he has terrible taste in food.”

“He doesn’t.”

“I just think you deserve to know where his tongue’s been before you?—”

She looks at me sharply.

I can’t help the way my eyes go to her mouth. Ruby has great lips. “You picking up what I’m putting down?”

Her gaze stays flat on me, but I don’t miss the way her mouth quirks.

“So have you?” I ask.

“Have I what?”

I shrug. “You know—put your tongue ...”

“Lorenzo. Gross.” It really is. How did I get here? “Anyway,” she continues, “shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”

“Why would I know?”

“Locker room talk. Whatever. Boys being disgusting.”

“Maybe don’t date him if you think he’s disgusting. And no, I wouldn’t know anything about it. Brad’s at least smart enough not to say shit like that around me.”

“Because why?”

“Because I’d kick his ass.”

She laughs. “You would not! You’re not—” But she catches my eye, and I see her smile fade just before I look away. She’s right. I’m not that type. But I was for one night. For her.

A long silence passes between us.

“Anyway, I happen to know he has good taste in food,” she recovers.

“How?”

“I made him lunch the other day. And he loved it.”

“You cooked for him?” Something flares inside me, and this time I know it’s not wanting better for her. I’m jealous.

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