When You're Ready by Britni Danielle

never flat-out asked me for money, no one ever attempted to pay for anything when I was around, especially girls. If we were out to dinner or hanging at a club, when the tab came people just slid it in my direction like footing the bill was my fulltime job. I didn’t mind, mostly. But sometimes it felt like some people were taking advantage of me because I could afford it. If I was still that broke kid in Pacoima, I knew most of them wouldn’t even give me the time of day. I could tell my Nola was different. Watching her scramble for her wallet to buy me lunch was a new, and uncomfortable, experience.
    “Just ring it up on the card,” I told the cashier who was starting to get a little impatient.
    “Don’t you dare!” Nola screeched, her eyebrows scrunching together. “I mean, I’ve got it. I just have to—“ She stopped mid-sentence as her bag crashed to the floor, spilling its contents. She spotted her wallet amid the mess and paid the cashier while I picked up her things and started putting them back in her bag. I noticed an essay with bold lettering across the top and read the title aloud, causing Nola’s head to snap in my direction.
    “Give me that,” she said, grabbing for the paper. I held it above her head, far out of her reach, teasing her. “C’mon, Scout, please?”
    “It looks interesting, I want to read it.”
    Her eyes went wide, and she tried to jump up and grab it, but between the extra inches I had on her and my long arms, she couldn’t reach it.
    “That’s not funny, Scout. Give it back.”
    “Fine.” I folded the essay in half and stuck it my back pocket, and then covered it with my shirt. If she wanted it back she’d have to reach under my t-shirt to get it, getting dangerously close to my skin. “Get it yourself,” I grinned. 
    Nola bit her lip, and I immediately wanted to kiss her until she begged me for more. Even though the stuff at the Getty was pretty amazing, I’d been having a hard time paying attention to the art. Nola’s skin glowed in the sunlight, and her hair cascaded past her shoulders in luscious curls. Every time she stopped to tell me about a painting or a sculpture, all I could think about was plunging my hands into her hair and pulling her mouth to mine.
    We walked out of the café and headed toward the garden to find a spot to eat. Nola and I stretched out on the grass, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
    “What?” she asked, looking puzzled. But all I could do was watch in awe as she took out a copy of the Daily Bruin and spread it on the ground as a makeshift tablecloth for our food. First, she laid out our sandwiches, then our fruit cups, and finally the drinks, arranging each piece so it looked like we were about to enjoy a real meal.
    “Damn, girl. You set everything up so nicely I feel like I should be dressed up or something.”
    Nola giggled and I felt her laugh reverberate in my own chest.  “Sorry. Habit.”
    “Oh, right, I forgot. You’re the professional.” Nola took a bite out of her sandwich and smiled. “How long have you been working at Pink Taco?”
    “A year,” she said between bites. “Before that I waitressed at another place, but it was kind of a dump.”
    “You like your job?”
    “It pays the bills,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how many people actually like waitressing. It’s harder than it looks. When I get off work my back is aching, my legs and feet hurt, and my arms feel like I’ve been lifting weights all day.”
    My jaw tightened. The thought of Nola being physically exhausted, and in pain , made me want to tell her to quit her job immediately so I could take care of her. But that was stupid, and completely unreasonable since it was just our first time hanging out. Still, I didn’t like the idea of her pushing her body to extremes just to cover the bills.
    I could give Nola a great life; hell, I could give her an amazing life. I just hoped she would let me do it. Seeing her give me a