Page 24 of Bad Seed
A serene smile rises across his face. “I think so too.”
Really? I have to bite down to keep from telling him everything about my last shoot with hard boiled eggs. Still trying to be the pleasing date, I slide closer and peer down at the pot. “So, what are you making?”
Aubry shuts off both burners. He spools the noodles onto two plates, then drenches them in sauce. Lifting the plates into the air, he says, “Jollibee spaghetti.”
“Jolly what now?”
“Jollibee.” He chuckles. “It’s a fast food joint in the Philippines. My grandfather used to take me if I managed to swing B’s on my report card.”
Ah, that would explain his tan and unfairly handsome but also boyish face.
“Shall we eat?” he asks as if I’m not ready to devour dinner whole.
I glance over my shoulder to find the sun nearly setting. The last rays stream across the immaculate back yard, catching on the eternal river. He looks with me and smiles. “Sounds perfect.”
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CHAPTER NINE
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AUBRY
The last rays of the sun streak across the sky, igniting the water that seems to stretch to the horizon. I set down my plate and gaze toward the sea. If I close my eyes, I can hear the call of the gulls and the clang of fishing boats, smell the salt and the fishermen. It’s been years since I’ve been back to my Lolo’s farm. Living in the dry desert of Nevada was as alien to Cebu as a Canadian tundra. But here, flanked by mountains and the winding green hills, nostalgia plucks a string made of barbed wire.
“This is beautiful,” she whispers, perched on the edge of her seat. Sadie looks as if she’s about to dash over to peer down at the valley.
There’s a wonder in her eyes that doesn’t dim even in the darkest of lights. I’ve gazed into hundreds of brown eyes before but none with her shine for life. She breaks from the fading sun to find me staring at her not as a man aware of what cards he has before him. No, I’m a drooling lech starved for touch and aching for hers in particular.
Sending the food flying with one arm, then dipping her onto the table dances in my brain. Watching her eyes widen in surprise then surrender sends a cascade down my body until I have to tug on my inseam to adjust.
“This looks good too,” Sadie says and lifts her fork.
I join her, both of us raising our forks. “I hope you like it.” We clink our utensils like wine glasses then she digs in, swirling the spaghetti through the sauce.
I am off my fucking game. Every time I think to clinch the deal, I wonder if anyone’s outside watching. If they’re calling for backup. If they’ll finally get me tonight. And, by the time my paranoia calms to a normal level, the moment’s over. At least she doesn’t seem to be aware. Or she is and that would explain her need to talk.
For god’s sake, all I have to do is eat, fuck her, then hit the road. This is easy. I plunge my fork in, twirling the spaghetti, and glance up. She’s cupping one hand under hers while guiding her head toward the stationary fork. Just as she reaches out, lips parted and tongue about to extend, her eyes close.
Fuck. The sight of her making the same face on her knees, red lipstick about to slide down my cock, sends my hand racing to my lap. Pressing my engorged tiger tight to my thigh, I take a bite.
“Oh, my god!”
Fork tongs stab the roof of my mouth. “What?” I almost leap out of my chair, prepared to grab the gun.
“This is amazing!” She nearly has tears in her eyes as she takes another bite. “It’s sweeter than I expected and tangy.”
“That’d be the banana sauce.” I smile to myself, thinking of my first trip to a Jollibee in the city. I’d been inconsolable since arriving on the island. So, even with tears streaming down my face, my Lolo sat me down in a booth, brought me a plate of spaghetti, and told me to “Kain tayo.” I didn’t speak a word of Tagalog but hunger took control. Everything was different. I missed my house, my friends, my school, my city, my language…my parents. But the second I tasted that sauce, I was sitting on the kitchen stool with my mom watching to make sure I got every bite.
“I ate so much of this in the Philippines,” I say. “It was a special treat after a hard day on my Lolo’s…grandfather’s farm.”
“Are you from there?” she asks.
“No.” I put on a smile as angry voices clash in the background of my mind. My parents arguing over something I couldn’t understand, telling me I had to leave, my yelling back. It was the last I ever heard from them. “I’m from Jersey originally, but when I was nine they sent me to live with my Lolo in Cebu. He had a small farm that used to be a larger farm.”
“What’s he grow?” she asks, taking another careful bite.
I twist my fork through the spaghetti, twirling and twirling until the tines are buried in noodles. My stomach twists, and I put my fork down. “Tourists.”
