Page 31 of Hot Mess Express
His eyes are harder than stone as he stares at me. I swear his soul is trying to grow a body, climb out of those stupid eyes, and strangle me right now.
I can’t begin to describe how much joy that brings me.
He points at his plate. “And these?”
“Oh, you mean the cute carrot sticks?” My smile brightens as I lean in and bring my voice way down, just for him. “I believe youdidagree to havin’ two …sticks… for your sides. Right off of the children’s menu, just for you. Complete with a littleblopa’ ranch dip. Or did I get that wrong … sir?”
He doesn’t answer. He picks up his fork and knife, saws off a bite of shoe leather, then brings it to his lips. I watch withbuilding satisfaction as he chews. And boy is itworkfor him to chomp his way through that piece of solidified cattle tar. It’s probably even more work for me to keep from laughing while he, as stubborn as he is, refuses to give me the satisfaction of showing his anger.
Don’t worry, Bridger. Watching this is satisfying enough.
When he finally muscles that first bite down, he lifts his eyes to me.
And says: “Could use a little sauce.”
I lift my eyebrows. “You sure about that? Everyone knows a steak here is seasoned perfectly with Gran’s special recipe. She’s a staple in this town, which I wouldn’t expect you to know. You are eatin’ some prime stuff, cooked to perfection.”
Bridger only looks at me, saying nothing, doing nothing, his eyes trained on mine with a vengeance I know is there but he’s refusing to show.
This is a thousand times better than any squeeze of his ass in a hairy monster costume.
“But don’t worry,” I assure his smart-ass face, “I’ll bring you some sauce anyway. Just sit tight-assed.Sorry,” I correct myself, “I mean: just sittight.”
Then I wink.
And off I go, right back to the kitchen with the empty tray and the folded stand, with a pep in my step and halfway to whistling.
“He seriously ordered it that way?” asks Denny in the kitchen, the cook responsible for the shoe leather, squinting at me over the grill while cooking up two ribeyes for another table. “What kinda weirdo orders a perfectly fine steak ‘overly well-done’?”
“Dunno. People with sticks up their asses, I guess.” I chuckle and shake my head, still wiping tears of joy out of my sleepy eyes. “I’m riding a high so good right now, I don’t know whetherI’m in a dream or it’s my birthday.”
“Not until November.” Denny winks. “I remember.”
“Only because it’s the same as your brother’s and he doesn’t even live here anymore. No one celebrates my birthday, not even my own parents.” I rummage through the sauce bottles. “They’re just amazed I survived another year bein’me, I guess.”
Thoughts of my parents drag me right on down from my high. I can’t believe my mom had a fall recently and no one told me. No one even called. Just because I’m not home as often lately doesn’t mean one of them couldn’t have picked up a phone and told their only damned son. I thought my dad and I were having a kind of breakthrough over the summer, now that he and my mom were getting along more lately, going on walks, living their best lives and all that shit.
Maybe they’ve only been happiest when I’m out of their hair.
“Ah, here we go,” I say, fishing the bottle out of a cluster of them, “the perfect sauce.”
“That isn’t steak sauce,” says Denny.
“I’ve seen people use it on steak.”
“It’s spicy as fuck and packed with habanero.”
“Some like their steakhot.”
Denny eyes me. “What nonsense are you up to, Anthony?”
I move to the swinging kitchen door, peering through the tiny window in it. Bridger is perfectly visible down the aisle, and would you know it, he’s still working his way through that steak. I could have served him a literal shoe and he’d force himself to eat it, just to prove something to me. What does he think he’s proving? All I get from this performance is that I was right from the start: He’s a bigheaded out-of-towner who thinks he can’t do wrong and never apologizes for anything.
I push through the door into the noise. A smile on my face. A bottle of sauce in my hand.
He spots me so fast, it’s obvious he’s angry.
Even if his smug, handsome face looks perfectly calm.
