Page 57 of Kiss My Glass
“You’ve been here?”
“Once. With Mom. And all my brothers and sisters,” I tell her. “It was a bun fight. Literally.”
“Could the food be described as dainty?”
Frankie looks like she wants to turn around and find another place. No way I’m going to let her. I get out of the car.
“Just order two of everything,” I say. “And quickly. My body has consumed all its fat and glucose stores and is now turning on my internal organs.”
“No stamina,” Frankie mutters, but she gets out and locks up the car.
Fortunately, the menu contains enough substance to satisfy us both. Reuben sandwich for me, grilled cheese for Frankie, and a chocolate milkshake each. The sandwiches come with a leafy green side salad. Frankie scrapes hers off onto my plate. My sister, Ava, lived for years on nothing but protein bars and air, and my brother Max still spurns all watery vegetables, such as cucumber, iceberg lettuce, and tomatoes, so I’m used to quirks around food. But I have to ask.
“Are there any vegetables you eat?”
“Carrot sticks,” says Frankie. “Plain popcorn. Pickles. Potatoes in their only acceptable form, which is fries. Green beans if they’re blanched to perfect al dente. It’s a fine balance to get the correct consistency, which is why I don’t often eat green beans.”
“And fruit?—?”
“Apples. Have to be fresh and crisp, not a hint of flouriness. Every so often, I’ll eat a nectarine as long as it’s not too ripe.Veryoccasionally, I’ll eat a slice of watermelon if someone has removed the seeds.”
She stares me down. “Got a problem with that?”
“Not a one,” I say, truthfully. “Each to their own.”
“Is there any food you won’t eat?”
I have to think. “I tried a roasted grasshopper once. Wouldn’t rush back for seconds.”
Frankie looks like I just admitted to cannibalism.
“They’re the protein of the future,” I say, with a shrug.
“Don’t care,” she says. “If I catch you barbecuing a tarantula, there’ll be no coming back from that.”
“Noted,” I confirm. “No bugs. I’m guessing no beaver, muskrat, or raccoon, either.”
“No one eats those!” protests Frankie. “You’re making it up, like you made up the loony thrasher bird!”
“My mom has an old copy ofThe Joy of Cooking, from the 1930s. Totally a recipe for beaver tail in there. Also bear and woodchuck.”
“Who writes a book like that? Davy Crockett?!”
Frankie picks up her milkshake and scowls. “Now, I don’t want to finish this. You’ve put me off.”
“I’ll make it up to you later,” I say. “And by later I mean how fast can we get back to mine?”
“Half an hour ago, you were dying,” says Frankie.
“I’ve perked up,” I say. “All of me is now super perky.”
I see her hesitate. Frankie’s a cautious person, and she has to feel sure she’s doing the right thing. I get it, I do. But I still really hope she chooses the getting naked with me thing.
“You owe me half a milkshake.” Frankie lowers her voice. “But I’ll settle for several orgasms.”
“Deal.” My face is one giant grin. “I’ll grab the check.”
ChapterThirty-One
