Page 108 of Loving the Legend
“I’ll put a rack on it. Look at it, bruh! And it tastes better than it looks. The cows were slain on a full moon or some shit.” He leans forward in his chair. “Let me set the scene. Imagine two seasoned patties, juicy in the middle and seared to perfection on the outside. You dig?”
I nod.
“The juices from the burger get their freak on with the gooiest small batch of American cheese you’ve ever had. Add thin rings of pickles and caramelized onions, ’cause why the fuck not? Garlic aioli rains down from the heavens. Go on, lick your lips—you know you want to.”
I shrug. “Sounds like a regular cheeseburger to me.”
“I'm not finished. A red wine sauce infused with shallots, herbs, and wait for it…foie gras tops it off.” He kisses his fingers. “Slide that thick, juicy baddie between a buttery brioche bun and boom!” He flicks his fingers against his temple.
I chuckle. “Aight! I’m intrigued. Only way to know it ain’t hype is to try it myself. My next cheat day’s on Friday.”
He nods. “Say less! I got you. Prepare for your life to change—and your belly to expand. Wear sweats.”
“Bet.”
“Y’all want to train at my place tomorrow?” Idris asks from two rows behind us.
“I’m game,” I answer, twisting in his direction.
“Can’t. I traded the wife a spa getaway in exchange for this trip. Unless I can come through with my little terrors? Before you agree, I should forewarn you that Benji is going through astreaking phase. He threw a tantrum when I stopped him from stripping down in Target last week,” Kaleb says, making us laugh.
“Little dude’s a free soul. Bring ’em through,” Idris says. He climbs to his feet and tilts his pelvis forward to stretch his back.
“I’m down, but only if it’s after eleven. Y’all kill me with that crack of dawn shit,” Malik says as he tucks himself deeper into the chair.
Idris sighs. “Someone tell this youngin’ that greatness means getting off yo’ ass and gettin’ after it.”
“Youngin’, listen to the vet. Peep Sid. Dude won a championship, and he’s right back at training for the Olympics during the offseason,” Kaleb jumps in.
I grin. It is pretty badass, even if I miss him already.
“Do we need to pull up your airball compilation on YouTube?” Kaleb jokes.
“That’s cold, bro. How you gonna reduce the kid to his failures?” Tevin pipes in.
Malik upnods to Tevin. “Thanks for havin’ my back.”
“He ain't lying tho. I’m just sayin’, I’d get up at dawn if my field goal percentage was under forty percent,” Tevin retorts, causing an eruption of laughter.
Malik shakes his head. “Et tu, Brute?” He jumps to his feet and lifts his chin. “Which one of y’all tough enough to say it to my face?”
He spins, turning his back on Kaleb, who sneaks up behind him and puts him in a full Nelson hold, forcing his hands straight up in the air. “What was that, youngin’?”
“Ohh, snap!” Tevin says dramatically, covering his mouth. Can always count on Tev to instigate.
“Money’s on K!” Idris throws out.
I’m about to tell Malik my money’s on him, but I’m distracted when my phone vibrates. I hit accept just as Malikcounterattacks with a swift side-step. He tucks his leg behind Kaleb’s and drops his front knee, sending Kaleb crashing into the seats in front of him, breaking his hold.
“Don’t break Sid’s plane!” I yell.
The guys roar with laughter as Malik fist punches the air and bounces on his heels like a heavyweight champ.
“I want a rematch,” Kaleb says, rubbing his lower back.
I shake my head. “Hey, Unc! You’d never believe who I—wait, hold on—” I can barely hear him over the ruckus. I move toward the front of the plane. “My bad—”
I stiffen once I register that the voice on the other end isn’t Adam’s.
