Page 6 of Never Say Yes To Your Best Friend (I said Yes)

Shacked up? Who the heck says shacked up?

I have no idea how to respond to that, so we just sit in awkward silence. Genevieve looks all around the place, studying everything from the people around us to the black and white photos of old landmarks on the walls to the man playing a grand piano near the front.

Whoever is in that kitchen must work miracles because our appetizers come in record time. Our server and another server set down dish after dish.

Genevieve doesn’t immediately dig in. Instead, she catches the server before he leaves. “Crab legs!” she yells. Half the restaurant turns to stare at her, but she’s oblivious. “That’s what I want. Do you have that?”

Our poor server does his best to smile. He’s on his own because after setting the plates down, the other guy abandoned him. “Yes, we do.” He lists off a number of options.

“Oooh, yes! I’ll have that last one. The twelve legs plate.”

Twelve? I couldn’t eat more than a few myself. Where the heck is she going to pack that away? In her purse? A to-go bag? I’m impressed, and I’ll be the first to say it.

If we’re ordering, I might as well get my go-to. A steak, medium rare, and a baked potato. You can’t go wrong with that combo. I’ve never had a steak I didn’t like, and potatoes have to be one of the most delicious foods on the planet, no matter how they’re cooked. Baked ones are just that little bit extra.

Genevieve tries at least one of everything already set out. I watch, amazed, as she devours the appetizers. She licks her fingers, leaves crumbs all over the place, and barely comes up for air.

“Try the quiche,” she suggests with her mouth full. “Holy crapballs, it’s freaking amazing.”

Try as I might, I can’t find anything to say, so I pick at the plates of food until our server reappears twenty minutes later to save me.

“Yay!” Genevieve cheers, clapping her hands wildly.

She lets out a sports-sized hoot. You know, those loud calls that are best reserved for sports stadiums during live gamesoutsideand not indoor restaurants with five-star ratings and soft piano music being played by a real person. I swear, that loud call makes the guy up front miss a beat on the piano, but he recovers effortlessly.

I’m going to have to leave our server a massive tip because he nearly jumps out of his starched white shirt. He quickly sets the plate of crab legs down in front of her before it bounces out of his hands at another loud noise. I swear he’s still going to give the wholeis there anything else we might needspiel, but she goes for it.

“I’m soooo hungry! I’ve been waiting all day for this!” She dives in, grabs a crab leg with both hands, and gives it a vicious crack. Juice sprays all over her, and our server manages to smile and walk away with some dignity.

The crab leg gives way under that furious pressure, and Genevieve takes the large piece of red and white meat and pops it into her mouth. Her eyes close, and she moans.

Moans.

Like bedroom-style moans.

I honestly don’t know if I’m mortified or turned on right now. My dick, making a half-mast tent in my pants, says he’s not sureeither, but he’s leaning toward the latter. She swallows the hunk of meat, brings the part with the crab claw to her mouth, andsuckson it.

Dear god, I think it’s definitely the latter in a really bizarre, uncomfortable way. I’m not rock hard, but it’s getting there, and right now is not the time or place to have a conversation with my dick about weird kinks that I wasn’t in the least bit aware of before now.

“I’m being so rude.” She pauses, her lips and chin glistening with crab juice. She stares me down. “I haven’t even offered you any. Do you want to try it? They’re fucking…I mean freaking delicious.”

“Oh, I…” Shit. I’m obligated to be polite, aren’t I?

I go to accept the crab leg, but then she brandishes it in her hand like a sword. “En guard!” she yells. Heads turn in our direction, and the piano player misses another note. She swipes the crab leg through the air in swordlike motions, grinning so hugely the whole time that I can’t even find it in myself to be annoyed.

There’s something wrong with me because I want to laugh.

I end up catching the thing mid-swipe and set it on my plate. “Want some steak?” I offer casually since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do. When all else fails, act normal and offer beef.

I’m well aware of how wrong that sounds. Fuck.

“Me? Oh, no. I’m not a fan of cow murder.”

What? But I just watched her nibble at all those appetizers that had chicken, pork, lamb, and seafood, plus shedevouredthose mini quiches.

Wait. What?

“Oh my god!” I shove back my chair. “Stop!”

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