The Way We Talk

I finally reach my senses when I arrive on campus.

As much as sticking it to Maria Sentauri would make my year, even if she never finds out, it's wrong. It ruins the whole 'be the bigger person' thing I'm trying out, and I don't want to risk the best opposite-sex friendship I've ever had because I'm a perpetual fucking hormone-case.

The troubling thought in my mind is no longer 'should I hook up with Christian?', but rather 'what the hell is going on Friday?'

I've been asked to block off my Friday, make no plans whatsoever. Like, Christian made me pinky-swear: juvenile, but unfairly cute of him.

And now, the boy is digging through my closet, trying to find me something to wear.

"What am I doing tonight? This isn't funny anymore." I say again exasperatedly as he riffles through my tops. At least he's not 'accidentally' in my bra drawer. Again. Stupid boy.

He shakes his head, continuing to make a mess. I hope he knows that he's cleaning this up after tonight's whatever. "You know, the more you complain, the more fun this is for me." I give him a death glare, and he just chuckles, "If you must know, you're going on a date. Not a coffee date like your disaster with Pete Warner," he says the name in the way most people would say 'genital warts', and to that I giggle, "But a real one."

"Who am I going on the date with? Or is it a secret?" I ask, stressing the word he's been teasing me with all week.

He throws a shirt at me, and I whip mine off to put his on. I'm sure that I just imagined his eyes wandering my shirtless frame. Whatever. "Chris," he says, not missing a beat. Definitely not staring at my chest, told you. "He's back from Japan, and he's been single since before he left. He's my best friend and you're my best friend, so it'll be perfect," he announces, looking awfully pleased with his own cleverness.

I've never bothered to look up Chris Kamrada on Facebook, and I'm starting to regret that now. I've heard so much about him - he's the drummer in the band, he's twenty-one, he's a junior at UDC, and he does some pretty crazy shit when he's drunk. But go on a date with him? I trust Christian's judgement (sometimes), but I'm not crazy about the idea of a blind date.

I am unceremoniously ushered to the Potomac elevator, then thrust out the door. Christian reassures me of his own obvious brilliance, then leaves me alone with a boy who I can only imagine is my date.

Chris Kamrada is around five foot nine, with shaggy light-brown hair that he pushes out of his eyes twice over the span of less than a minute, the other hand tucked into the front pocket of his skinny jeans. He sends me a winning smile, then walks over to me to give me a one-armed hug. He smells like the musk of his cologne, and I grin widely for the full second that I'm pressed against his chest.

God, Climer, thank you for having ridiculously attractive friends.

"Hey Erica, I'm Chris," he says with half a laugh, running a hand through his messy hair again. God, even his voice is sexy. "I'm sorry if this is kind of awkward. Christian just kind of threw us together and left."

I giggle. "Climer's none too keen on subtle details."

Chris nods. "True. Before we head out, do you like Vietnamese food?"

I nod, and Chris grins, throwing an arm over my shoulders. "I have a feeling that we're going to get along just fine, Erica."

--

Chris brings me to a Vietnamese restaurant that I once went to with Ava and Chelsea. We make conversation over our entrees. Chris tells stories about studying abroad (he insists that I see Japan someday) and I tell him about the month I spent in France between my junior and senior years of high school. We talk about traveling and music and what we want to do after we graduate.

He picks up the check and slides his credit card in before I can even offer to pay. When it comes back, he quickly scrawls his signature without letting me see how much he's spent, then ushers me out the door.

He laces our fingers together as we head up M Street, away from both our campuses. I guess that means there's a part two to our date.

He head to Georgetown Cupcakes for the obvious reasons, and he doesn't let me pay again. We discover that our favorite flavor is the same - Red Velvet - and exit, cupcakes in hand.

"I must admit, your taste in cupcakes makes the fact that you don't like sushi okay," he jokes as I unwrap my godliness. Chelsea's mom got the description right. They're not cupcakes; they're heroin with frosting.

I swallow my bite and 'mmhm' in ecstacy. "How did we live before these fucking cupcakes?"

"I know, right?" he replies in agreement, squeezing my shoulder with his temporarily free hand, "Footy downright refuses to try them because he knows how addicted all of us are. I swear, I'm going to graduate broke, obese and so happy because of these things."

I laugh at this; Chris is kind of a beanpole. If anything, he could use the extra weight. "There are worse things in the world than that, I assure you."

"Wait," he says, and we step out of the sidewalk traffic, "You've got icing on your cheek." He chuckles, lifting a finger to my cheek, the sticks the smear of cream cheese frosting into his mouth. He then leans down and pecks my cheek, before leading me back onto the sidewalk.

It hits me that he could easily have kissed me there. And I really, really wish he had.

--

He drops me off at the entrance to my dorm.

"This was so much fun," he says, capturing me in another hug, "I'm so glad that Christian set us up."

I force a grin, hugging him back. The night is over, and no mention of a second date, no kiss. Just friends. Ouch.

He pulls away and grins, but doesn't say anything else. "Well, I'll text you, then," I say stupidly, fishing my GWorld out of my purse and trying not to look like a rejected puppy.

"Erica," he speaks up again, and I look up, GWorld in hand, and toss the strap of my purse over my shoulder once again. Chris takes a step towards me and tilts my chin up with one hand. He smirks at me for a split second before quickly pressing his lips to mine.

He pulls back a second later, then half-smiles at me again. "Yeah, text me if you're free tomorrow night. My fraternity's having a party; you should be there."

I nod, and he kisses me again, then leaves me with a cool "see you later, Erica."

I barely get inside the door of Potomac before I squeak. The University police officer gives me an odd look from behind the sign-in desk as I swipe in. I grin sheepishly and wave.

God, I'm such a girl.