Page 6 of Sizzle
“Steve thinks changing the menu will bring more people in,” Elliot is saying. His brother is the only member of that family who actually seems to give a damn about Elliot. I don’t get the family dynamic at all—my own parents are about as all-American wholesome as any kid could have asked for, married forty years, happy for all of it, at least as far as I know. Elliot’s brother has his own family now, and they all seem happy and well-adjusted, but Elliot’s parents checked out on their kids a long time ago. He doesn’t talk about it much, but I’m glad Steve sticks close by.
“Interesting. What kind of change?”
“That’s why I’m here, buddy,” says Elliot, beaming up at me and that smile goes straight to my dick. I stare down at the decking between my feet, but Elliot doesn’t notice. “You speak foodie. Steve thinks I need to broaden my horizons, get me an in with some of the health-conscious crowd. Which is basically the opposite of everything Duckbill is about, but I’m not exactly in a position to be choosy right now.”
“Interesting.”
“You already said that.” He frowns.
“Because it is. It’s definitely worth considering,” I tell him. “Let me think about it.”
Elliot gives me a play-by-play of his conversation with Steve as I mull it over. The idea’s got merit, because what he needs more than anything is more customers. This city is famous for its butter-on-everything attitude, but the health-conscious angle could definitely bring in some new faces.
“Steve is right,” I say the next time Elliot pauses for breath.
“Well for fuck’s sake, don’t tell him that,” he says. “And now what? I do deep fried American comfort. So we add… What? Salads, probably.” Elliot taps at his keyboard.
“You’re going to have to get a little more creative than that. Hand me the computer,” I tell him. He does so immediately, his compliance stirring me the way it always does.
Does he even realize he obeys me instantly? Every single time, no matter how small or subtle the request or even suggestion. He’s so full-tilt, so controlled, so tightly wound every minute of the day. Under every other circumstance, Elliot hates being told what to do. I don’t know why he tolerates it from me, but it makes me want things from him I shouldn’t even think about in the vicinity of a friend.
He can’t know it affects me. I don’t even think he realizes he does it, which makes it that much harder to bear. If only—
If only nothing. If I want to settle down someday, have a wife and some kids and a marriage and a life together like my parents, this “if only” side of me has no business making any noise. Even if I could have a wife and kids—or a husband and kids—Diana made it perfectly clear no decent person wants a man with my history.
I open tabs for four of my favorite food blogs and pass the computer back to him. Elliot flips it around and squints.
“What’s this?”
“Food bloggers. People who write about food? Given that you own a restaurant, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of this before.”
“Fuck off,” he says, not looking up. He clicks around. “What exactly am I looking at here, Alex? ‘Cause none of this looks like a solution.”
“It’s not a solution, it’s inspiration,” I tell him and polish off the rest of my beer. “Poke around and see if there’s anything you like. Every one of those blogs has recently written at least one post on making comfort food healthy. Maybe they’ll have something you can integrate at Duckbill.”
“Ho-lee shit,” says Elliot a couple minutes later. “Have you seen this woman?” He flips the screen around for me to see. It’s a typical blogger photo of a woman standing outside near a tree.
“Oh, yeah. That’s Joelle Munroe. She writes some great stuff.”
“Dude.” Elliot widens his eyes at me. “Did you look at her?”
I hadn’t actually, but since he’s obviously seen something he likes, I take another look, clicking to expand the photo.
“Wow,” I say after a minute because he’s got a point.
“No shit.”
She’s lovely. It’s an old-fashioned word, but it’s the best one I can think of staring at the photo on the screen. Her pinned-up hair looks as though it might tumble down over her shoulders if the wind so much as shifts. Her eyes are bright and laughing. Her mouth—her mouth is a gift from God, full and sweet and curved in a smile.
“Perv,” says Elliot, taking the computer back. “I saw her first.”
I grab another beer before settling back on the swing. It’s finally starting to cool off out here, but I’m enjoying the air too much to go in yet.
When was the last time I enjoyed anything? It’s a strange thought, but once it’s there, I can’t make it go away. So things have been maybe a little dark for me lately—it can’t have been that long since I enjoyed something. Can it?
When was the last time I took a ball down to the court? Or even just worked out? When was the last time I just went for a walk because the weather was nice?
I can’t remember. I honest to God cannot remember.