my booth so long as you don't mind me slurping my noodles.”
I chuckle. “I don't mind,” I say. “I’m just happy to have a place to sit. I was in the mood.”
She licks her lips. “In the mood, huh? For what?” She laughs and I laugh too. Having no idea what she finds so funny. But her energy is captivating. Pulling me in.
“In the mood for pho,” I tell her, and she nods knowingly.
“I think that's pho-nomenal,” she says with a smile that has my cock twitching and my heart thumping.
Trista
Nothing can put me in a sour mood today. I'm feeling fantastic.
I have my class schedule all set. I have all my things prepped and ready to go for the start of spring semester.
I even know what I'm wearing tomorrow to class. Black pencil skirt, vintage heels and a white blouse. I'll tuck it in, with a pink handkerchief tied around my neck. Hair in a high ponytail. Yes, I am going for the Elle Woods look from Legally Blonde, although I'm not studying law.
I don't really know what I'm studying. But I am starting college. I didn't make it to fall semester or winter term, but here I am in the spring, all ready to go.
Not that I'm exactly excited about the college part. But I am excited about having a plan. My parents are excited too. They are tired of me taking dead-end jobs. They want me to have a career. A future. Problem is, I don’t exactly want one. Not the future — the career. It’s never been my thing.
I tap my nails on the tabletop. I just did them — acrylic, hot pink, gemstones on the nail bed in the shape of a heart. I smile up at the handsome man sitting across from me at my favorite restaurant. My day just could not get any better.
“So, what's your name?” I ask him as a waitress hands him a menu and pours us each a glass of water. I clasp my hands together. He does the same.
“I’m Trent,” he says with a gravelly voice that sends a shiver of longing down my spine. “And you?”
“I’m Trista.”
“And what brings you here today, Trista?”
“It's my favorite restaurant. I've been coming here for years. My grandmother used to make me pho every time I visited, but she’s passed away, so it was my mission to find the best broth in the city.”
“And this place compares to your grandma?” he asks, looking around.
“Yes. And they have amazing reviews. Have you read them on Yelp?” I smile. “To be completely honest, I've definitely helped the star rating. I created like, fifteen dummy accounts.”
“Wow. You're committed,” he says, deadpanned.
“I’m not scared of commitment. Are you?” We laugh as a waitress comes over. “I’d like an order of pot stickers and a large steak pho,” I tell her. “Oh, can you add snap peas to it?”
“Sure,” she says. Trent orders meatball pho and the waitress walks away.
“So why have you never been here before?” I ask Trent.
“I just moved to town, actually.”
“Yeah, from where?”
“Seattle,” he tells me, running a hand over his black beard. His glasses are just adorable. Everything about him is, in fact.
“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” I tell him a little loudly. What can I say? My voice carries. He chuckles, apparently entertained by me. The soup comes a few minutes later and I begin adding bean sprouts to my broth, some jalapeños, lime juice, Sriracha. I reach for my chopsticks. He does the same.
He doesn't add any basil to his bowl which, frankly, I find weird.
“What?” he asks, noticing my reaction and smiling. “I’m not a basil guy.”
“I've literally never heard of such thing,” I say with a laugh, shoveling noodles into my mouth. I moan. “Oh my God, this is so good.”
He laughs, watching me. “I’ve never met a woman who looks so good slurping noodles into her mouth.”
“No?” I ask, eyes widening. We both lean in close, and I can feel the charge of electricity running between us. God, Trent is so hot, so good-natured, I’ve never been drawn to a man like this before. “Well, lucky you,” I say. “Because I’m good at fitting lots in my mouth at once.”
He nearly chokes laughing at my innuendo, and so do I. I pick up a pot sticker and dip it in soy sauce. I moan exaggeratedly. “You’re killing me, Trista,” he says, his voice a few octaves lower this time. His eyes lock onto mine.