The fact that he grabbed a couple handfuls of Beaver Nuggets fills me with an inordinate sense of pride. He’s now switched to his salad, and even though it looks kinda tasty, there’s no way it’s as good as the Dr Pepper-gummy worm-nugget mix I’ve got going on. Still, he’s happy. Not a look I often see on him.
What’s weird is that, as juvenile as I probably look right now, seeing me enjoy myself seems to have softened him up a little. I suppose I could meet him in the middle and stop fucking with the temperature or playing German electro erotica while singing the wrong words at the top of my lungs.
Yeah, I know I said I’d tone it down, but…he’s so easy to tease. Also, this is technically me toning it down.
“Do you want any of this salad?” he asks, shaking the clear plastic container at me. “I’m not going to finish it.”
Still looking at the road, I delicately place my hand on my chest. “What? And destroy my palate? How are my gummy worms going to taste after dining on your freshly tossed salad?”
He smacks his palm to his forehead. “Why do you have to make everything dirty?”
I turn toward him, an eyebrow raised for full dramatic effect. “Darling, I don’thaveto. Ichooseto. There’s a difference.”
He rolls his eyes, like he’s done a million times before, but this time it lacks the undercurrent of agitation. To be fair, I’m usually going for agitation, but it’s nice to see him relax.
“Fine, but if your stomach hurts after eating all that candy, don’t come running to me.”
“You sound like my mother on Halloween. And I’ll tell you what I told her.”
He turns to me, his eyes glowing in the dashboard light. “This should be good.”
Maintaining focus on the road ahead, I respond. “Unless it’s something that belongs to you, what I put in my mouth is none of your concern.”
There’s a moment of silence in which I’m convinced I’ve fucked up this little truce of ours, but then it’s broken by the most magical sound in the world.
Omarlaughing.
It’s a deep, rich laugh that makes me want to pull the car off the road and climb him like a grocery store pony.
“Dammit,” he says, still laughing and shaking his head. “You win. Never change, Anders.”
“Don’t encourage my bad behavior, Omar. You know it just makes this worse.”
He rolls his eyes. “Well, trying to get you to stop the bad behavior hasn’t worked so far, so desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Fine, give me a bite of your tossed salad,” I say, grinning like a jackass.
He scratches his chin, pretending to think it through. “I don’t know if I want to give it to you anymore. Only the worthy get a crack at my tossed salad.”
My jaw practically hits the steering wheel. I take my eyes off the road, looking at him, dumbfounded. “Was that a joke? Did you actually say something funny?”
“I can be funny,” he says, seriously.
“Are you sure? Is it allowed?”
“My salad, my rules.”
I place the back of my hand on his forehead. “Nope, no fever.”
“Ha, ha,” he says, smiling broadly.
First laughing and now smiling? Jesus, we’re only halfway to Lufkin and I’m agoner.
“Fine, let me check out your gas station salad.”
He laughs to himself, closes the container and shakes it again, then opens the box. Taking his plastic fork, he carefully selects the leaves and other elements of the salad and puts together a beautiful bite for me.
I take the fork and fight back a groan.
