Page 43 of All Wrong
He should mind his own business. It was hypocritical not to, considering what he’d told Nicki about Corinne being a grown woman who could make her own choices.
On the other hand, she didn’t have the instincts he had, nor the life experiences. She could be walking blindly into a bad situation.
In the end, he decided to go to Schmidt’s. Shecouldn’t very well make an informed choice unless she had all the information, right?
Schmidt’s was a barbecue place along one of the back roads. It wasn’t much to look at. An old, boxy white building built of cinder blocks that held, at most, a dozen people at a time. No one went to Schmidt’s for the ambiance. They went there for the food.
Alongside the building was a covered patio, open on three sides, with a twenty-foot-long grill, as well as a rotisserie spit the size of a 1970 Cadillac Coupe DeVille. The scents of seasoned, roasted meat wafted out, sending his stomach into instant hangry mode.
He spotted Corinne sitting at one of the many picnic tables toward the back. She waved him over the moment he came into view, as if she’d been watching for him.
“Hungry?” he asked with a smirk, looking at the tray piled with food before her.
She shrugged. “Hopeful.”
The word did something to his chest. She shouldn’t ever use that word in reference to anything that had to do with him.
“I thought you were into healthy meals.”
“What can I say? Sometimes, I like to take a walk on the wild side.”
He ignored the sudden tightening in his groin her words prompted and sat down across from her.
She waved her hands over the food. “Help yourself, but I get a bite of everything.”
His lips pulled upward. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”
“No. Just indecisive. No impulse control, remember?”
He picked up a sausage roll and took a bite. His eyes nearly rolled back in his skull; it tasted so good. Half of it was gone before she was waving a bun in front of him, dripping with tangy turkey barbecue.
“Trade,” she said.
He reluctantly relinquished the sausage and accepted the roll. It was every bit as good.
They did that for the next half hour, tasting, eating, sharing, making their way through assorted sausage, beef, pork, and turkey offerings. They didn’t say much beyond mutual mumblings of enjoyment and the occasional, “Gimme some of that.”
It was one of the oddest—and most satisfying—meals he’d ever had with someone.
When nothing remained but used napkins andgreasy wrappers, she exhaled and rubbed her belly. “Thanks. I needed that.”
“What are you thanking me for? You paid.” A fact that rankled him, but, hey, he wasn’t a caveman even if he felt like one when he thought of Corinne and Brett fucking Buckman spending time together.
“Yes, but thanks to you, I got to sample a little bit of everything without all the waste.”
“You could have taken it home for later.”
“I suppose, but it’s not the same as fresh.”
She finished off her beer, then cracked open a bottle of water and took a long drink. From beneath half-lidded eyes, he watched her lips purse and her throat work. His groin responded accordingly. He ignored it.
“So,” she said.
“So,” he answered.
His stomach clenched around the heavy food. Now that they’d reached this point, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s got your boxers in a twist?”
