Page 23 of Like You Want It
I click the Gouchos number in my phone and put it to my ear. “Any dietary restrictions or preferences I should know about before I order?”
Susie shakes her head.
I glance at Fin and find his same neutral expression zeroed in on me. I take his lack of response as confirmation that he’ll eat whatever the hell I order for him. Whether he intends it that way is another story.
While I’m putting in the order for two medium pizzas – one fugazza and one canchera – Susie bustles around the kitchen, disposing of her incredibly overcooked chicken, wiping down the counters, and pulling down wine glasses.
I lean against the side of the fridge while I provide my credit card number to the gentleman taking my order, keeping my eyes on Fin.
He’s sitting pretty stiffly in a chair at the kitchen table, as opposed to on the couch watching ESPN, which is currently playing on the TV.
His eyes watch me with no remorse as I put in the order, which I find incredibly strange. Most people have trouble maintaining eye contact for too long. But not this guy.
He just watches me, his gaze unwavering. Then, as I’m wrapping up the order and hanging up, taking a second to hit the end button, I look back up in time to see his eyes doing a perusal of my body.
The heat that erupts across my chest is completely unexpected.
This guy is an asshole. Treats me like I’m a leper. I shouldn’t like when he watches me. I shouldn’t want to have him eyeing me like my body is the only thing he wants right now.
But then his eyes meet mine and I see the one thing I can’t stand seeing in someone else’s eyes.
Judgment.
Lots and lots and fucking lots of it.
It’s a quick dose of reality that has that heat cooling rapidly.
He wasn’t eyeing me with desire. He was eyeing me with disdain. Just the emotion every woman wants to see in a man’s eyes.
Though, I couldn’t say what it is he’s judging. Maybe it’s my huge, messy rat’s nest head of hair that I threw into a sloppy bun before coming over. Maybe it’s my athleisure wear that saysbootyin bold white letters on my ass. Or the tattoos that cover my right bicep in a half sleeve. Or maybe it’s still my apartment or my smile or how small my boobs are or who the hell gives a shit.
But whatever his reason? It isn’t good enough.
You don’t judge someone on first impressions without getting a whole heaping lot of shit wrong.
My mom used to say that you can make an assumption when you first meet someone, and that’s just human nature. But how you choose totreatsomeone regardless of that assumption is what makes your character.
She was the type of woman who spent her entire life being judged by the women she didn’t fit in with at church, at my school, the neighbor moms. She’d be frustrated and poorly treated, and she’d still give a genuine smile and be incredibly kind to the women who made her feel like shit.
That’s the type of woman I want to be. The one that’s nice, no matter what. That is kind and caring and gives everyone a chance.
So I push away from the fridge and go to Susie’s side, choosing to shake off Fin’s gaze, reminding myself that I don’t know him well enough to read anything into what his eyes are saying.
“I’m so glad you broughtTop Gun,” Susie says as she pours my glass.
“Oh good!” I respond. “Tom Cruise is so sexy in it. This andCocktails.You know, before he went couch-jumping-crazy.”
Susie giggles, then walks a glass of wine over to Fin.
“Cheers!” I say, “To totally awesome new friends, huh?” I wink at Susie and clink my glass with hers, then look over at Fin. I hold my glass up to him, including him on the cheers, but don’t move closer to where he sits, still just as stiff, still just as silent, glass in hand. He makes no move to cheers with either of us, so I shrug and take a little sip.
“This is really good,” Susie supplies. “I’m usually a rosé girl, but Merlot might be edging in to take second place.”
I nod. “This is one of my favorite vineyards, so I will almost always have a bottle of this at my house.”
Suddenly I feel rude. Like, there’s another human being in the room and I should try to include him.
“What’s your fav, Finneas?”
