Page 26 of Forbidden You

“What did you get?”

“Some ramen, beef teriyaki, chicken katsu. Tempura shrimp.”

Her features change as if she hit the jackpot. “You got fried shrimp?”

I give her a reprimanding look. ”Tempurashrimp. Yes.”

“Anything fried is a win. Are you a plate person, or can we eat this straight from the containers?”

Answering by illustrating, I open a container and reach for a set of chopsticks. “Please tell me you’re not as obsessed with fried stuff as your cousin?”

“Who? Rae?” She follows my example and reaches for the other containers, checking their contents one by one.

I nod, with a mouthful of ramen.

“Oh no, it’s not fried stuff in general for Rae. It’s fried chicken. Preferably Nana’s. And to answer your question, no.” She finds the tempura shrimp and pulls one out, then sinks her teeth into the crunchy thing.

Her eyes close when her lips are wrapped around the shrimp, completely savoring the moment like it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. Like it’s her first drop of water after a week-long drought.

Hot damn.

Did I mention I hate being her boss?

I swallow hard before licking my lips at the pretty sight, wanting to be that damn shrimp. Who knew eating could be such a turn on?

“It’s burgers.”

Still focused on her plump lips, I blink. “What?”

“What I like. It’s burgers.”

Oh, right. We were talking about food.

“So you like trash?” I put my focus back on my ramen to try to not torture myself, and stay focused on the subject instead of her mouth, her legs or any other part that I wouldn’t mind being my dinner instead of these salty noodles.

“What is wrong with a burger?” she cries.

“Everything.”

“I’m not talking about McDonalds or anything. The best burgers are freshly made from ground beef with cheese and bacon. Though I’ll take a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger from Wendy’s any time of day.”

“You’re crazy.”

“It’s a good burger, Bodi,” she scowls.

“There is nothing good about Wendy’s.”

I hope to age better than my dad, so I put effort into eating as clean as possible, and Wendy's is not clean.

“Fine,” she huffs. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Lasagna. But not the store-bought kind. Fresh. With fresh lasagna sheets, ground beef, tomato sauce, béchamel, and pumpkin slices in between.” My mouth waters at the thought of it and suddenly my ramen tastes like shit. That, or my appetite is changing now that she’s sitting just a yard away from me.

“Lasagna is good, but it doesn’t beat a burger from Wendy’s.”

“Nothing from Wendy’s beats a homemade lasagna. I’m going to prove it to you.”

She frowns, though amusement sits in her eyes.

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