Page 126 of Roulette Rodeo
The pickle spear that came with it is perfectly dill, crunchy with just the right amount of brine. I alternate bites—sandwich, pickle, sandwich, pickle—creating a flavor symphony that would make Beethoven weep.
"—new regulations about omega registration?—"
"—grandfather clause might not?—"
"—have to file paperwork within thirty days or?—"
The words float over me like background music, meaningless noise while I experience nirvana via sandwich. A bit of sauce drips onto my finger and I lick it off without thinking, making a small sound of appreciation that apparently interrupts whatever serious discussion is happening.
"I think she's totally tuning us out," Shiloh's amused voice finally penetrates my food haze.
"No shit," comes Rafe's dry response.
I continue eating, unhurried, savoring every single bite. The bottom of the sandwich is getting a bit soggy from the sauce but that just means the flavors are melding together even better. I take another huge bite, chipmunk-cheeking it a bit because I may have been overly ambitious with my portion size.
"Red?" Corwin's voice now, gentle but insistent but I ignore him anyways.
"Why were you in town, Rafe, when you’ve been ignoring our messages?"
There's a pause where I assume Rafe answers, but I'm busy navigating a particularly challenging section where all the meats have congregated into one mega-bite. It requires strategy and jaw dislocation techniques I've perfected over years of speed-eating between shifts.
"—had to come into town for regarding the government's new laws about?—"
The sandwich is three-quarters gone now and I'm both proud and devastated.
Proud of my accomplishment, devastated that it's almost over.
I briefly consider ordering another one but my stomach is already sending signals that it's reaching capacity.
"What is it?" That's Shiloh asking something, his voice carrying that edge of concern that usually makes me pay attention.
But not today. Today there is only sandwich.
I pick up a strand of cheese that escaped, tilting my head back to lower it into my mouth like a baby bird. The move requires leaning back slightly, which makes my shoulder bumpinto Talon's. He shifts to give me more room, which I appreciate because this next bite is going to require full arm extension.
The last bite is always bittersweet. You want to savor it but you also want to end on a high note. I make sure it has the perfect ratio of all components—meat, cheese, sauce, vegetables. The bread crunches, the flavors explode, and I close my eyes to properly appreciate this culmination of sandwich perfection.
When I open them again, I realize the booth has gone silent.
All four alphas are staring at me with expressions ranging from amused to awed to vaguely concerned. I become suddenly aware that I've just demolished a sandwich the size of a small child in under ten minutes while they've barely touched their own food.
There's sauce on my fingers. Several of them. I bring them to my mouth one by one, licking them clean with the kind of thorough attention that would be obscene if I was doing it on purpose.
But I'm not—I just really don't want to waste any of that magical sauce.
My thumb requires extra attention because somehow sauce got all the way down to the web between it and my forefinger. I have to really get in there, tongue working to catch every drop.
"Jesus Christ," someone mutters. Might be Talon.
I reach for my lemonade—real lemonade, not that powdered nonsense, with actual pulp and the perfect sweet-tart balance—and drain half the glass in one go. The cold cuts through the richness of the sandwich, cleansing my palate.
Then I burp.
Not a delicate, ladylike burp either. This is a full-throated, from-the-diaphragm, window-rattling belch that would make a trucker proud. The kind that echoes slightly in the vintage tin ceiling of the diner.
Heat floods my face as I finally, truly focus on my companions.
They're all staring. Shiloh's got this soft, fond look like he's witnessing something precious. Talon's grinning so wide his face might split. Corwin's trying not to laugh and failing. Even Rafe, perpetually grumpy Rafe, has an expression that might be amusement if you squint.
