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“So, you found your way to Mac’s,” she says.
“I wasn’t aware this was a destination.”
“Any local worth their salt knows and eats at Mac’s.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. Mac's is a mecca for milkshake aficionados. They make the best milkshakes in the entire country.”
A small grin curls the corners of my mouth, and I chuckle. “I noticed they had a pretty expansive milkshake menu.”
“That’s what they’re known for.”
“The onion rings are pretty good too,” I say, holding one up.
“You can’t go wrong with anything on the menu.”
She slides into the booth across from me and looks out at the rain pounding down on the pavement outside. Mac’s is a fifties-style diner with black and white tile, red vinyl booths and cushions, a lunch counter, and lots of chrome everywhere. The waitresses all wear poodle skirts with white blouses and look like pinup girls.
“So, are you stalking me now?” I ask with a grin on my lips.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I told you, this is the place for a good meal and a milkshake. I usually drop in a couple of times a week.”
“You’re tiny. I find that hard to believe.”
“I work out a lot. Plus, I’m not much of a cook, so Mac’s is always a good option. It’s pretty much my go-to.”
“Well, the bacon cheeseburger was pretty damn good, I’ll give it that.”
“You should have had the steak sandwich. It's life-changing.”
“Well, maybe I’ll try that next time.”
Cami looks at my mostly empty plate and frowns, looking almost disappointed that I’m finishing up my meal. I can still taste her on my lips. Her womanly scent fills my nose and the sound of her moans and whimpers rings in my ears. With that assault on my memory and my senses, I feel myself getting stiff. Thank Christ there’s a table covering me.
I’m trying to push the images out of my mind, but all I can think about is tasting her again. All I want right now is to feel that narrow mouth of hers on me and my rigid staff sinking deep into that sweet, wet little slit between her thighs. Her cheeks are flushed, and she’s squirming in her seat. I see the hunger in her eyes and wonder if she’s having similar thoughts.
“So, are you about to take off?” she asks brightly.
“Apparently, I’m going to have to stick around and have one of these milkshakes to see if you’ve got good taste or you’re just blowing smoke.”
“Good idea,” she says with a sultry smile and a twinkle in her eye.
The waitress comes by and takes our order. As she eats and I drink my shake, Cami and I talk about everything and nothing in particular. I learn a lot about her. She’s incredibly intelligent and has a wicked, sometimes dark sense of humor that really meshes with mine. There’s a natural chemistry between us that I can’t deny, and the more I learn about Cami, the more I find myself wanting all of her. Not as a hook-up. Not as a girlfriend. But as my wife. Jesus, what’s going on with me?
I’m enjoying the time we’re spending together, and as she finishes up her meal, I find that I’m not ready for the evening to end.
“You’re looking good in practice,” she says.
“Not sure it’s going to matter,” I reply glumly. “I’m getting the feeling Coach B is pretty set on starting Ryder this season. Hell, maybe he’s right and I just shouldn’t fight it anymore.”
She looks at me, her eyes narrow, an inscrutable expression on her face.
“What?” I ask.
She shrugs. “I just didn’t think you were the sort who wallowed in self-pity.”
“There’s a difference between self-pity and acknowledging reality. At this stage of my career, the staff feels I’m more of a mentor rather than a player. They want me to groom and guide the kid and show him how to be a pro QB.”
