I quirk a smile and with a deep, resigning breath, I stand. And against my better judgment and the God-given sense I once possessed, I offer her the bend of my arm. “I’ll be sure to tell my Michelin star, highly paid chef.”
“Oh God! Please don’t do that!” Allison laces her arm through mine without provocation as if the act is completely innocent. As if I hadn’t nearly tasted her lips just this afternoon.
“No? I shouldn’t fire her for serving such cold, soulless food? Or maybe I should can my sous chef, Riku. Good kid. He’ll land on his feet eventually,” I jibe, as we stroll toward the main house.
“No, you shouldn’t. That would make you a dick. And I’m quite enjoying the non-dick you.”
I turn to her, my eyes wide in mock mortification. “Non-dick me?”
“No! No, not what I meant! I mean, the dickless you. No! Um, uh, you without the dickiness!” Ally covers her rapidly reddening face with her other hand and shakes her head. “Oh my God, I’m hopeless. Cut out my tongue now before I make an even bigger fool of myself.”
“You are oddly fascinated with dicks, Ally. Freud would have a field day with you,” I laugh, tears forming at my eyes. I pull her hand away from her face, and she quickly turns away. But not before I catch a bright smile and the sound of her cackling laugh. She has one of those laughs that make you laugh. It’s not sweet or dainty. It’s a raspy, full-on belly laugh. The kind that’s sometimes accompanied by a snort. I chuckle even harder, and shake my head in disbelief. Yeah…even her snorts are adorable.
And fuck me. I’m using words like adorable.
Our laughter tapers off as we make it into the house, and we silently shuffle towards the kitchen.
“I hope we don’t get in trouble for being in here after hours,” Ally whispers, her arm still locked with mine. I flip on the kitchen lights and give a half shrug.
“I hope not. I heard the boss is a dick.”
She giggles and looks up at me, those animated eyes so alive with wonder. My gaze locks with hers, and I smile at the woman in front of me, like she is mine.
Now that we’re here, alone, the halogen lights illuminating that tainted smile that I have no fucking right to bear, my lazy ass Jiminy Cricket decides to intervene. I quickly unravel my arm from the warm comfort of hers and go to lean against a prep table. Ally doesn’t notice, at least she doesn’t show that she does, and begins to rifle through the large, stainless steel refrigerator.
“Anything in particular you want? You know…that isn’t incredibly pretentious or requires a dialect coach to pronounce?” she asks, her head still in the refrigerator. She picks something up and brings it to her nose, then gags and puts it back. I stifle a chuckle.
Ugh. Chuckling. What am I now? A giddy ass tween whose balls haven’t fully dropped yet? I palm mine just to make sure my boys are still intact.
“Anything you want.”
Ally emerges, holding up a wrapped wedge of Brie and a block of Manchego cheese like she just hit the jackpot. “Well, it won’t be gourmet, but I bet I could make some kickass grilled cheese. Now…what are the chances of us finding just regular white, sandwich bread?”
I make a face and shake my head. “Not likely.”
“Eh. Your soulless, hoity-toity bread will have to do,” she winks. And the hot, heavy feeling from earlier unfurls once more.
“WHO WOULD KICK whose ass in a fight: Iron Man or Batman?”
Ally tears off a piece of her grilled cheese sandwich and pops it into her mouth. We’re both propped up on stools at a prep table, a spread of focaccia bread grilled cheeses, green grapes and red wine in front of us. Ally sits across from me, plucking off a few grapes to make a happy face on the metal tabletop.
I swallow a bite and wash it down with a sip of wine. “Why are Iron Man and Batman my only choices? Why can’t I pick Superman? Or Spidey?”
“Nope,” she says, shaking her head. “You can only pick two. Iron Man or Batman. And, ew…Spidey? Lame.”
I take a bite of sandwich and contemplate my answer. “Fine. I guess I’d have to go with Iron Man.”
“Why him?” She finishes her grape happy face then eats the poor guy’s left eye.
“Well, he’s got the suit-”
“Batman has a suit!”
“—and he can fly.”
“Batman can fly!”
“But Batman can only swing from things from a bungee cord. He can fall. He does that a lot. He’s a pretty great faller.”
Ally frowns. “He is not a faller. He glides. He’s an ass-kicking glider.”
“With a rubber suit?” I smirk. “Because that is just so much more impenetrable than crystallized armor.”