“Fresh tomatoes, onions, cilantro ...”
“Mom says onions give her bad breath and gas,” she says, whispering the last part.
I nod. “So noted—”
“Gabby!” Andi says sharply. I guess she caught wind—pun intended.
“Hey, I’m a dude. A little fart talk isn’t going to scare me.”
I try to set Andi at ease, rolling my eyes. She looks mortified, her cheeks reddening, a few loose strands of hair falling in her face. By the way, Andi looks smoking hot in her jogging tights, tight-as-fuck shirt, her hair back, and minimal makeup.
“Do I roll it up now?”
I help Gabby fix her taco and motion for Andi to help herself. “The chef goes last around here.”
“Is that your ploy? You cook for all the girls?” Andi whispers her insecure response only for me. Gabby is sitting cross-legged on my bar stool, chowing down.
“It’s been a while. I’ve been known to woo a few with my culinary skills, but I’ll let you be the judge of that.” As she begins making a plate, piling a healthy helping of grilled veggies and beef on top of one soft shell, I say, “Don’t stand on ceremony for me. Feel free to take as much pico as you want.”
Andi rolls her eyes and blushes. “Sadly, this is my life. I’m a single mom with a kid who runs off at the mouth. I’m destined to be embarrassed for life.”
“Come on. I like you, your life, and your mouthy kid.” I wink so she knows I’m joking.
“Yeah?” Andi raises an eyebrow at me, and I pause.
“Did I tell you that you look stunning like this?”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“Nope, but it’s obvious I like you and your kid and this life. You’re here.”
She blinks and goes about making her plate. “Go. My daughter may start before everyone, but not me.” She turns her attention to her daughter. “PS, Gabby, you’re supposed to wait for everyone to sit and eat.”
“I know, but I was starving. You forgot to give me a snack.”
“Shoot. I’m sorry.”
“White or red?” I call to Andi, and ask Gabby, “Soda?”
“Red, please.”
“A Coke. Mom, can I?”
“Of course. Why not? Reid doesn’t have to be up until eleven with you.”
“It’s caffeine-free,” I say with a wink, and Andi turns beet red.
God, she’s so easy to please. Why can’t all women be this way?
I sit down with them, and we dig in. Soon, Gabby asks for seconds.
When she’s up getting her food, I lift a forkful of mine with pico toward Andi’s mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of cooties. Take a bite.”
A long moan comes out of her mouth as she takes my offering like manna from heaven, and I realize my mistake. Gabby is back at the table, the prospect of fart jokes long gone, because I’m raging hard under the table.
This is part of the evening I didn’t account for—single mom plus daughter plus boner equalssomething doesn’t fit in this equation.
“Reid, where are your glasses?”
