Cheeky

№ 26. Chocolate Cake

One year, ten months, and two days ago...

"More cheese?"

I shake my head politely at the waiter, batting my eyes as he draws back the grater. I ordered lasagna on a first date. This is my logic after not eating the whole day just to not look bloated in my dress. Yet now, I'm starving. And this piece of spandex Emma forced me to wear, has been digging into my ass for the past half hour. I wonder how he would feel if he had the most unfortunate opportunity to listen in on my thoughts. My brain wasn't exactly elegant, never really has been. I stare down at the saucy, meaty mass sitting on my plate, my mouth watering at it's spiced aroma, but then I remember the boy sitting in front of me.

He's watching me with keen interest,  already having plunged his fork into his chicken alfredo, chewing slowly and thoughtfully. I swallow as I smooth out my napkin on my lap, trying to figure a way to not look like a cow.

"Is something wrong with your dinner?"

I glance back at him as suddenly he seems worried; his perfect forehead creases with what I think to be anger. He looks nervous, and feverishly certain to please me. Weird.

"Oh no, it's fine," I manage.

"...Then why aren't you eating?"

Just pick up your fork. Pick it up. Take one bite. Do it. So I grasp the polished silver in my hand and delicately, shave off a corner, letting sauce and cheese ooze out onto the fine china. Dear lord, I think I might just face plant into this heavenly concotion of carbs and fat, right here right now. It takes everything within me to pace myself, and I dab at my lips with my napkin after the second bite.

"I'm so full," I reply.

Jeremy smirks, his signature expression, and places his fork back on the linen.

"You know, I like girls who have a healthy appetite."

I want to correct him, oh no you don't.  Any girl you've ever dated has weighed less than my pinky finger.

"I had a big breakfast," I sputter.

He doesn't say anything more, and I wish that dates didn't always have to revolve around meals. I mean, since when was it considered romantic to watch a person grind on meat and bones with gnashing teeth, mixed with saliva, and digest everything over the course of a couple hours?

Our waiter returns, promptly sweeping off our plates without a word, giving me a moment to breathe easily. No more food, no more distraction. I want him to be attracted, not repulsed. I can't help it if I'm awkward but by God I can at least contain my hunger. At that moment, a dessert menu is slipped into my hands and I feel as though this is the Universe playing some sick joke on me. I'll be fine if they don't have anything chocolate.

"And this is a sample of our many exquisute desserts, all prepared fresh daily," The waiter cooes. 

Don't look. Whatever you do Cassidy, just don't look.

"Cassidy?"

I hone in on Jeremy, his gorgeous eyes and sharp jawline, "Hm?"

"Do you see anything you like?"

My eyes remain glued on his perfect mouth as it moves, "Nope."

"But you haven't looked."

Shit, why does he have to be so observant. I run my tongue over my teeth, pressing sternly until I manage to turn and finally catch sight of the dessert cart. Chocolate. Everywhere. An explosion of every beautiful, sugary creation known to man, on one tray. Seriously. I gape at the tower of dark chocolate cake, dressed in rich frosting, and practically drool over its hundreds of layers of heaven and butter.