“Curry,” he says, then coughs quietly into his napkin. “Oh, that’s red curry.”
“Too spicy?”
I gesture for his canteen and refill it with ice-cold water. He takes a few glugs, then goes after the meat again.
“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.”
His eyes meet mine as he takes another bite. “No, this is my third year as a volunteer judge, and I like a rub with a little heat.” He clears his throat again, as though he may not have intended the double entendre. “Just, uh, wasn’t prepared. This is a really good balance of heat and flavor.”
“Glad you like it.”
He deflates a little, like he can tell I’m just trying to keep it moving. Instead of going to the next table, however, he holds the small plate to his nose and inhales deeply. “This isn’t just mesquite, is it?”
Maybe he does know a thing or two about barbecue.
“Good sniffer. I mix it with oak, forty-sixty. Keeps it from getting too mesquite-y.”
He flushes from the compliment and takes down the last bite, chewing and nodding.
“Smart,” he says, handing back the sample plate before making a few quick scratches on his small notebook. “Mesquite can take over a flavor profile if you let it.”
I toss the plate in the can beneath my table. “Glad you enjoyed it.”
“Uh, yeah,” he says, awkward. “See you around.”
He quickly scuttles over to the next table and, not gonna lie, I follow his ass all the way over.
“Ahem.”
I look up, and it’s the next judge, clearing her throat.
“Sorry about that,” I say, plating up the barbecue. “Careful, it’s spicy.”
“I’m good with a little heat,” she says with a smile. “And don’t worry. I, too, have been distracted by Rami Bash’s ass.”
I open my mouth to protest, to deny that I was, in fact, looking at his ass, but I don’t have it in me to lie. Instead, I shrug. “Busted.”
She laughs, making yummy noises as she samples my meat.
“Name’s Marley. Can I guess if you’re looking at his ass, you wouldn’t want my phone number?” she asks, delicately wiping the corners of her mouth.
“You would be reading that correctly,” I say, holding up my rainbow wristband.
It’s not that I haven’t slept with women, nor is it an issue of attractiveness. She’s a classic Texas beauty: tall, curvy, with pretty brown eyes, full lips, and long golden-blonde hair curving past her shoulders.
I simply don’t care to find out what her ass tastes like.
Rami, on the other hand…Nope, not going down that rabbit hole again.
“My loss,” she says on another tinkling laugh, then hands me back the sample plate. “By the way, that’s fucking delicious.”
I smile. “Thanks, Marley.”
She moves on, and I try to ignore the fact that Rami looked over each time she laughed. I’m definitely not going to think about what that means.
Once the judges have finished their walk-through, the contestants put their gear away while the judges deliberate. After I’ve packed up everything and stored it in my trunk, I graba beer and walk past the various food trucks until I find a guy selling the most delicious-looking meat-on-a-stick combos.
I ended up with a comically large sausage on a stick, still eating it as the announcer requests the contestants to head to the main stage. All the judges are there, and everyone is a little sweaty and red-faced in the Texas sun.
