Page 59 of Best Frenemies

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I let you see mine. Now you have to show me yours.”

Everything in my body is fighting against coming alive for the sexual connotation in his words. It’s like Pavlov’s freaking vagina over here at the authoritarian trill in his tone. I manage to clear my throat of saliva enough to list off my haul. “Turkey sandwich, trail mix, and an orange.”

“I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry for you.”

“What? Why?” I retort as I turn to look at him and nudge his shoulder accordingly. “There’s nothing wrong with my snacks.”

“Katy,” Mack responds with wide eyes. “You got an orange. At a gas station. I didn’t even know gas stations sold fruit. I honestly thought that was illegal.”

“There was a giant bowl of them near the counter, and there’s no Big Bear on our tail, so I’d say I’m within the confines of the law.”

“Go figure. I guess I missed them when I was grabbing my king-sized Twinkies,” he answers through a soft chortle. “Which, if you don’t mind, hand me those sugary snack cakes. I have a feeling they’re going to be just the ticket.”

I grab his Twinkies from the bag, even opening the plastic to make it easier for him to eat while driving. They smell like a freaking dream, and when some of the whipped cream filling gets on my fingers, I’m very tempted to lick it off.

I discreetly lift my finger to my lips and swipe that sugary whipped cream filling off with my tongue.

Sweet Jesus. I forgot how good Twinkies are.

In the name of consumptive solidarity, I open up my turkey sandwich and take a big taste. The first bite is lackluster at best—the meat is rubbery, the lettuce is wilted, and the wheat bread is one day away from being stale.

It takes a strong effort to swallow the bite down, and I have to wash the aftertaste away with a healthy sip from my coffee to really complete the painful cycle.

Note to self: gas station lunch meat is a no-go.

Mack, on the other hand, is over there enjoying his Twinkies so much, he’s practically moaning with each bite.

I stare down at my pathetic turkey sandwich with disdain. When it doesn’t turn into a sweet, cream-filled treat, I wrap it back up and shove it back in the bag. The last thing I need is to get sick off bad lunch meat from a gas station during a long road trip. Poisoned meat poops would really up the ante on our already awkward status.

“Fuck, these are good,” Mack says through another moan, and I can’t stop myself from looking over at him as he takes another big bite.

I kind of hate how good those Twinkies look right now. And he hasfourof the heavenly bastards. Who in the heck needs four Twinkies at one time?

Plus, he still has a whole bunch of other delicious snacks to eat.

And all you have is an orange and trail mix that doesn’t even have the M&M’s in it.

“Are you really going to eat all four of those Twinkies?” I chastise, and he looks over at me briefly.

“I was planning on it,” he says without remorse. “Why? You want one?”

“No.” I shake my head, but I swear on all that’s holy, it’s moving itself up and down. “Of course not.”

“You sure you don’t want one? Your head’s going the wrong direction.”

“I’m good.”

“Oh, c’mon, Katy,” he says, and his smile is nearly too big for this SUV. “It’s okay to admit that you have snack envy right now. I get it. And I do applaud you for trying to go the healthy route, but it’s okay to have regrets.”

“I don’t have regrets.”

He takes one of the Twinkies out of the package and waves it in front of my face. “You sure you don’t want this? I mean, I’m willing to share with you.”

There’s a part of me that wants to tell him off, but I fear if I did that, he’d remove the possibility of a Twinkie. And let’s be real…I want one real bad.

“You would really share with me?”

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