Page 11 of The Way We Touch
“I don’t even know what that means,” I chuckle, returning to the kitchen.
The wooden door slams behind her, and Craig has his phone out in a flash pulling up the app. Taking the pot from the stove to the large, silver worktable in the center of the room, I ladle stewed salsa into an industrial-sized blender to puree.
“Oh, come to Papa!” Craig fans his face like he’ll faint. “He’s a wide receiver. Just the kind I like. Look at him run.”
My head dips with a laugh. “I hate to burst your bubble, but I think he’s straight. Garrett said something about him coming off a breakup.”
“Is that so?” He cocks his head. “Maybe he needs to get over her by getting under you. Clear some of the cobwebs off that coochie.”
“No.” I do not laugh.
“I know, I know, no football players.” He returns to the phone. “Speaking of breakups, Davis came by the bar last night looking for you. He said you’re going to have to talk to him one of these days.”
“Just how drunk was he?” I puff air through my mouth, sending my hair off my cheeks. “There’s nothing to say. I caught him porking Stephanie in the bushes behind Parky’s.”
“So many jokes just waiting to be made…”
“I haven’t been able to eat grilled oysters since.” I hit the button on the blender, giving it a few pulses before dumping the salsa in a larger bowl and returning to the pot.
“Honestly, I’m more mad about losing the oysters than that cheating piece of shit.”
“We should beat up his Lexus with his golf clubs like that guy’s wife did.” Craig pulls the sleeve of his white tee higher, showing off his skinny bicep. “I’ve been working out.”
“That guy was Tiger Woods, and I don’t care enough to destroy his car.” I shake my head, hitting the blender again, giving it a few pulses. “I stayed in that relationship way past the expiration date.”
“If you ask me, it expired before you took him off the shelf.”
The Dare dish is ready, and I put all the bowls in the refrigerator. We carry the small, plastic serving bowls and large bags of tortilla chips out to the bar, and when I bend down to stash them, I feel the roll around my waist.
I’m not embarrassed by my body at all, but it’s a lot different than it used to be.
“I can’t teach dance.” It’s a low musing, a nonstop continuation of the arguments swirling in my mind since Mrs. Laverne made her offer. “I look nothing like a ballerina anymore.”
Craig frowns, and I gesture to my soft body, looking over my shoulder at my round booty filling my denim cutoffs.
Then I pull at my T-shirt stretched across my chest. “Ballerinas don’t have boobs.”
“Girl, stop.” He holds up a hand. “That ass is fine, and as for up top… I can’t imagine any straight boy complaining about your juicy double.”
“You’d never get me on your shoulder these days.”
“Just give me time, Pepper Spice. I told you I’m working out.”
My eyes land on the clock, and I jump. “Shit! I’ve got to get back to the house and make up the guest room before the guys get here.”
“Pool area’s all set.” Allie returns to the room with a pencil behind her ear and a pad in her apron pocket. “Tell me about the Dare dish.”
“Ghost pepper salsa served with tortilla chips and a big scoop of sour cream.” I count off on my fingers.
“And the warning?”
“A ghost pepper is a hundred times hotter than a jalapeño. It’s one million on the Scoville scale, so proceed with caution. Expert-level tasters only.” Allie’s eyes widen, and she nods as I continue. “If they’re in distress, don’t give them water or beer. Dairy neutralizes capsaicin oil, which is why we have the sour cream.”
“Got it.” She does a sharp nod. “And if they’re lactose intolerant?”
“Tomato juice.”
“Orange juice also works.” Craig hits the button and “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summer blasts through the dining hall. “Our intro music is ready to go!”