Free The Girl I Was Before by Ginger Scott Page A

his hands work on the counter, scooping peppers and onions and some sort of meat-something into the tortilla.
    “What favor?” I ask, and I know that I’m still making the face. Whatever he’s making—it looks awful.
    “Don’t overthink my food. Just eat it,” he says, pulling the tortilla tight, wrapping the bottom in wax paper, and handing it to me over the counter. His hand covers mine during the exchange, and I notice. It’s not like fireworks or magic or heat…well, maybe some heat. But…I notice.
    “I don’t know,” I say, looking at the most fattening thing I’ve eaten in probably two years.
    “It has less calories than that pink drink you were sipping on last night,” he says, and I look up at him, getting a good look at the deep purple around his eye.
    “Fine,” I breathe, opening my mouth and taking a small bite of egg, cheese, and tortilla. I reach to hand it back to him immediately, but he pushes my hands back to me. He touches me again. I notice.
    “That was the most pathetic bite I’ve ever seen. Take a real bite. Be a man!” he says so loudly, Sheila chuckles from far behind him. I can feel my cheeks fire up. I don’t like being embarrassed, but there’s something about the way he’s teasing me right now. It’s…nice.
    I look at the concoction in my hand, working the wrapper to get a better grip, and I peer up at him once more. His eyes make the smallest movement to my lips before coming back to meet mine, but I notice. “You can’t watch if I’m going to take a bite out of this,” I say, pausing with my lips right at the tortilla.
    “You are strange. Shut up and eat my awesome breakfast burrito,” he says.
    “I’m serious,” I say, pointing with my right hand, twirling my finger. “Turn around or something.”
    “Oh my god, fine,” he huffs, turning to lean his back against the counter. I allow myself a huge bite the second he does, but he turns quickly, catching me with cheese and onion hanging from my lips.
    “Stawp it, tune awound,” I mumble, my mouth way too full. His chest rises with a short laugh, and he shakes his head.
    “No. It’s too late. I’ve already seen you with egg on your face,” he laughs harder, handing me a paper towel.
    “Haw haw, vewy funny,” I say, chewing behind the napkin. This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever eaten, but I can’t tell him that. I press the napkin to my lips, finishing my bite, before I swallow and hand the burrito back to him.
    “Well?” he asks, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
    “Meh,” I say. Liar.
    His tongue pushes at the inside of his cheek, and he squints one eye, looking at me hard for a few seconds. This is his bullshit meter.
    “All right, it’s good. Whatever,” I say, shrugging. I hate him.
    No, I don’t.
    He laughs and hands the plate back to me.
    “Finish it then. I’m not eating a half-eaten burrito. Especially when there’s lipstick on the tortilla,” he smirks. I blush a little because he’s right; I left a pink mark on the end.
    “Thanks,” I say, softer now, and take a seat at a nearby table, dropping my heavy bag into a chair next to me. I glance over to the magazine rack by the door, and the classified listing catches my eye, so I walk over and pick a copy up. I notice a corkboard by the stand, too, with lots of cards posting and looking for roommates; I pause and read a few of them.
    THREE GIRLS LOOKING
    FOR 4 th ROOMMATE – TWO BEDROOM
    Yeah, I’m not sharing a bedroom; at least not something in an apartment with that many people. I look over a few more cards, one looking for a smoker, one looking for someone who likes cats and another that only wants a guy, unless you’re “hot,” according to the ad. I’ll pass.
    “You moving? Trouble at the Delta House?” He’s joking with me. I remind myself of that before I let my natural instincts say something bitchy. He’s being conversational, and he fed me breakfast. And he’s nice. Nice is…refreshing.
    “Something