My jaw dropped. “Vinegar?”
“Mmm hmm.” His eyes met mine over the top of his coffee cup. “Don’t knock vinegar. I use it in everything.” He smiled slyly as he set his cup down. “Including my chicken wings. Which is why they’re so popular.”
“Hmm.” I shoveled in another huge chunk of pancakes and took my time chewing before I replied. “Popular doesn’t mean a thing isgood. Know what else is popular? Nickelback.”
Parker gaped at me. “I… that… waslow. You fuckingknowhow I feel about Nickelback.”
“Do I?” I gave him my most innocent smile.
“For your information, my chicken wingsarepopular because they’re good.”
“I know,” I said placatingly, then added after a pause, “… that you believe that.”
Parker sucked in a breath through his nose, and holy shit, why did I find him even hotter when he was pissed off? I was demented, I really was.
“Better thanyours,” Parker said, folding his arms across his chest. “Any day.”
“You’re throwing down with me?” I demanded. “You sure you wanna do that? Overchicken wings? I mean, your pancakes would be a no-brainer, even though I do make a damn good pancake. Stick to pancakes, Parkie.”
Parker pushed his plate away, braced his hands on the table, and got to his feet so he was looming over me. The light filtering in through the window picked out the gold flecks in his eyes, and I temporarily lost the ability to swallow.
“My name isParker.” He smirked. “I also answer toGodandJesusunder certain circumstances. Andyou, Jameson, need to be taken down a peg or two.”
“Byyou?”
He deliberately glanced right and left. “Don’t see anyone else around to do it, so yeah.”
“Hilarious. How?”
“Cookoff, obviously. Your chicken wings against mine.”
“Right now?”
“You got other pressing things to do?” He straightened and glanced out the window, where the snow was still falling steadily. “Planning to wash your truck or something?”
I tilted my head to one side, fighting the desperate urge to laugh. “I had a Grindr blizzard hookup scheduled. OldFatCreeper87 hasneeds, Parkie. But for this, I’ll clear my calendar.”
“You have the ingredients?” he demanded, the way someone else might have demanded pistols or swords.
“Of course.”
“Then it’s on. Chicken Wing Death Match.”
I leaned back in my chair, sucking on a tooth. “And who’s gonna judge this death match?”
Parker frowned just a little, like he hadn’t considered this. “We will,” he decided.
I snorted.
“What? I can be impartial.”
“Sure you can. That idea has about as much merit as the idea of your chicken being better than mine.”
“So, you’re saying it’s totally believable andchock full of merit, then? Excellent. Decided.”
I opened my mouth to argue when Parker leaned toward me again. “Unless you’rescared,” he whispered. “You can forfeit. I won’t judge.”
“You wouldsojudge.”
