Deanne is at the ticket window. He’s behind the concession stand with Julia, a sophomore who has a crush on Jessup. She’s okay, not a girl he’d be interested in even if he and Deanne weren’t dating—nice, but he likes girls who challenge him—but Deanne teases him about it anyway, thinks it’s funny to ask Jessup if he wants to butter Julia’s popcorn.
There is a slow but constant stream of customers, always three or four people in line. Large Sprite and small popcorn, medium popcorn and a large water, small Coke and a Butterfinger, two kids’ deals with Sprites a large popcorn large Coke M&Ms and nachos, two large Diet Cokes a medium Coke a medium Sprite three medium popcorns a grape slushy and you’ll bring the pizza into the movie theater for us?
When there are gaps between customers at the ticket counter, he sees Deanne looking over at him, and he smiles back. A few times, when she doesn’t notice, he catches teenage boys, college students, even a few grown men, looking at her in admiration.
She is beautiful, but the funny thing is, if he had to describe her, even though a lot of the guys on the team would say the coach’s daughter is hot, Jessup would say she looks healthy. She’s fit, the muscular leanness you get from running cross-country and distance meets in track and field, and she comes by her athleticism honestly: aside from Coach Diggins, Mrs. Diggins was a D-I cross-country runner, runs half marathons and triathlons now for fun. He knows it’s desperately unhip to think of his girlfriend as “healthy” instead of “hot” or “sexy,” but he doesn’t care. She is hot and sexy, but she’s . . . wholesome.
She sees him staring, gives him a wink that feels decidedly unwholesome, and he’s got a hot flashback to the pickup truck, her skin on his skin, the way she held him as he slid inside of her.
“I said no butter.”
Jessup looks blankly at the woman in front of him. He apologizes and gets back to work.