Page 61 of The Stud

“What the fuck is korfball?!”

I toss a blue beanbag in her direction on a light chuckle.

“That’s not real shit.” She hastily shakes her head post catching it. “You’re making that up to fuck with me.”

“That isnothow I want to fuck you, Ducky.” The nickname quickly reminds me of what’s in my pocket. “Oh! I got something for you at the airport!”

“I’m not interested in the herp dog but thank you.”

“That is something my latest STD test would tell you I do not have.”

“How recent?”

“Last week.” Her lips pull together in preparation of arguing which pushes me to add, “It’s why I went to med post pracky instead of the grocery store with you.”

“Fuck you for that. How was I supposed to know where to find fiddleheads?!”

“Perhaps…ask?”

She flashes me her middle finger only to instantly receive another round of light laughs.

Cooking for her has sort of become a habit.

And one of my better ones.

Her reliance on me to eat better helps me maintain my own personal dedication to it.

Mostly, it’s just tossing shit in the crockpot and whipping up a salad to go with it; however, on the occasion, with a bit of goading from Father, I go balls out.

Try out for the big leagues.

Which is what making fiddlehead and ricotta pasta was.

It was also a fucking disaster that ended up with emergency BBQ lime wings being ordered.

However, theeffortwas greatly appreciated.

Food has most certainly becomes a language we speak to one another.

Arden folds her arms protectively across her chest in unison with asking, “What’d you get me and why?”

“Well, since you were kind enough to draw a dick on thebottomof my kicks this time rather than the top…” her devious smirk has me even more excited about the present, “I thought a thank you gift was in order.”

Pulling the rolled-up wad from my pocket prompts her into sassily stating, “And here I thought you were popping pipe over getting to throw these beanbags.”

“Whileannihilatingyou at all athletic competitions does put a smile on my face-”

“Not all.”

“Zorbing shouldn’t even be considered a real sport! You’re just racing around in a giant hamster ball!”

“You’re just mad you lost.”

“I didn’t lose.”

“You didn’t win.”

“I came in third.”

---