Page 119 of Playing to Win
Lucky me.
Me:I’m bored, hungry and horny.
Acey Baby:Is this a cry for help?
Me:Yes.
Should I ask him to come over?
Yes. Yes, I should.
Me:Come over.
Acey Baby:What are you hungry for?
Me:Surprise me.
Acey Baby:You really want me to come over?
Me:I’m alone and a little hungry. I need protection. And food.
Acey Baby:I’ll be right over.
THIRTY-SEVEN
ACE
I throwon an old pair of threadbare gray sweats and a CU red hoodie with bleach stains and make my way to Ruby’s apartment in record time, only stopping at Taco Bell because it has a twenty-four-hour drive-thru. I buy a variety of items—tacos, burritos and chalupas and haul ass the rest of the way, eager to see her.
Eager to take care of her.
I never thought I’d want to be with a girl for such an extended period of time, but I’m proud to say I’m not sick of her yet. In all actuality, I’m more entranced with Ruby now than I’ve ever been. She’s just so…fascinating. I like hearing her talk about her day. Her past. Her present. What she hopes for her future. I like hearing her stories about her family. How close they are, and how someday she wants a bunch of kids too.
Though she made that confession and immediately tried to play it off, like she wasn’t thinking about having kids with me.
Honestly? When she said it, I couldn’t help but think of having kids with her.
She’d be a good mom. She comes from a good family. She’s smart and thoughtful and sexy and funny and friendly and caring and…
I’ve got it bad for her. So fucking bad.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
This no-dating clause thing is a real drag. I’m tired of hiding what we’re doing, but I have to be respectful of Ruby’s job. I don’t want to be the reason she loses it.
But this is truly some straight-up bullshit.
By the time I’m at her front door, she’s already got it open and letting me inside, reaching for the Taco Bell bag before the door is halfway closed.
“Oh my God, that smells amazing,” she murmurs, dropping the bag onto the tiny kitchen table and digging her hand inside. When she pulls out a chalupa, she groans. “My favorite.”
“I got a bunch of stuff,” I say, watching as she unwraps the chalupa and takes a big bite. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
“I want all of it.” She waves her hand at the bag, her mouth still full. “Unless you, uh, want something.”
I grab a basic taco and unwrap it, taking a bite though I know I shouldn’t. This definitely doesn’t qualify as part of my nutritional meal plan to keep in shape.
Once she polishes off the chalupa, she grabs her water bottle that’s sitting on the table and takes a big sip before she plucks a taco from the bag and starts tearing into that too. I watch her, wondering if she’s hormonal or about to start her period or whatever. She seems preoccupied and unusually hungry.
