Page 61 of Taming a Menace
“I’m good either way.”
“If I’m using real shit so is my baby,” he said, placing a silver fork on top of my plate. “You good?”
“Yes, now can you sit down and eat before your food gets cold? I’m fine, Key.”
“Look at my baby all concerned about me and shit,” he joked.
“Whatever,” I said, shaking my head and biting back a smile.
Finally, with that brown beer bottle clutched in his hand, he plopped down next to me and pulled his plate into his lap.
“You didn’t have to give me the tray. I eat in my lap all the time.”
“Baby, just eat. I’m trying to watchThirsty Housewives,” he fussed.
“One of your mama’s shows, huh? How do you know the name?”
“Good guess.” He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.
“Bad liar.” I laughed.
“That’s a good thing. Ain’t it? You don’t want me to be agoodliar.”
“You’re right actually.” I nodded.
“Eat, baby. I don’t want your food getting cold either. I’m not going back in there and warming it up again.”
Without further ado, Keywan doused his food in sauce then dug into his chicken hibachi. That was my cue to stop watching him and eat my own food. The shrimp and chicken teriyaki I ordered was as good as I remembered. The combination of the sweet sauce and honeyed carrots contrasted perfectly with the salty chicken and dry rice. I just loved food. In a perfect world it would make sense for me to date a chef. It was funny how life worked sometimes.
“How is the food?” I asked, looking up from my food at Key who was over halfway through with his own.
“It’s good. I’ve been to that place a few times since you mentioned it to me.”
“Oh really?” I quizzed, suddenly remembering how he’d asked me about my favorite restaurant. That was years ago.
“Yeah. I had to try it. I only went because it was your favorite spot at first. Then I realized how good it was. It’s only ten minutes from my house. I think this was my third visit. The food is good, but mostly I was hoping that I would run into you there eventually.”
“Hm, then eventually came.”
“It did,” he noted, placing his plate on the table and sitting back.
When he reached over, picked up one of my crab Rangoon, and popped it in his mouth, I shot him a look. No he did not just take food off my plate.
“You don’t share, Moon?” he asked with lifted brows and that handsome grin plastered on his face as he waited for my response.
“Aren’t you allergic to shellfish? They put crab in those,” I cautioned.
“It’s imitation.” He reminded me.
“Oh, I wasn’t sure if that mattered.”
“Somehow it does. They have like zero real crab in those things,” he said as he repositioned his long body until his legs draped over the arm of the couch.
I watched curiously as he stretched out and put his head in my lap as if I weren’t still eating.
“Comfortable?” I asked looking down at him.
“I will be when you finish eating.”
