Tiger doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a quarter of a shit. The smell of grilled meat isn’t the main event for him, it’s simply nice to have. He’s happy because he’s with Romeo.
“Should I put him inside?” Selby asks for the second time. Romeo waves her off again, and she says, “Ugh,” under her breath.
She chatters away, filling the silence with tidbits about the week she just had at work, and Imanage to string together a few semi-intelligent-sounding sentences about what I do for a living. I’m finding it hard to concentrate. Romeo is wearing an apron and humming to himself now. The apron is beige with splashes of dirty pink and sage green. It’s covered in faded florals, and fuck me dead, he wears it well. Every now and then, he gives a couple of the burgers a little bop with his tongs in time to the song playing in his head.
I sincerely don’t want to find him adorable. Believe me, I don’t. It’s the last thing on Earth I need. And I sure as hell don’t want to be looking at him like this while I’m sitting next to his wife. Any asshole could tell you that’s a terrible idea.
Yet here we are.
I shift in my seat and adjust myself when Selby gets up to let Romeo know she thinks the burgers are done. Romeo leaves them on for another couple of minutes, and for some childish reason, that amuses me greatly. When all parties are happy with the state of burger readiness, he brings them to the table, takes off his apron, folds it, and hangs it over the back of his chair before sitting opposite me.
“Looks great,” I say.
Selby and I assemble our burgers quickly and tuck in. Romeo takes his time. He sandwiches his burger betweentwo slices of cheese and two slices of tomatoes and then painstakingly arranges his pickles so that every bite he takes will have some pickle.
I forgot he did that.
He always did it. Sal used to build burgers like that. She taught him how. She used to shake her head at the haphazard way I made them and say, “No offense, buddy, but his is the only way to make a good burger.”
Then she’d take my plate from me and make one of her good burgers for me. I loved it.
And I forgot about it. A blend of nostalgia and sadness hits me. If this was then and not now, I’d talk about Sal. I’d say, “Remember when she did this,” or “Remember when she said that,” and we’d laugh and maybe even cry, but at least we’d remember. At least it would feel like she happened and was real.
Selby and I have eaten at least half of our burgers by the time Romeo is satisfied with the assembly of his. He lifts it in both hands, long, graceful fingers caging it firmly as he brings it to his mouth. He pauses and smiles at it. Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and bites into it. I see a glimpse of teeth and tongue. A flash of white and a hint of pink wetness. He bites hard and decisively, canines and incisors ripping through bread and meat. There’ssomething so carnal about it that I drop my head and look away quickly.
Fuck.
I’m floundering. I’m being fucking stupid. I’m openly lusting after a married man as his wife sits at the table right next to me. Surely to God, not even my dumbest self can think this is acceptable.
I’m about to launch into giving myself a very serious and clearly much-needed lecture when I feel a sharp kick on the shin. Romeo is still chewing and eyeing his burger as if he wants to make out with it, but he glances up and gives me a look that quickly alerts me to the fact that Selby is talking to me. I manage to rejoin the conversation just in time to piece together that she’s asking about Sam.
“…think he’ll come out here while you’re here? Three weeks is a long time to be apart when a relationship is still new, and we’d love to meet…”
“Uh, yeah, no. No, he won’t be coming out. We’re actually, well, we broke up.”
“Oh noooo!” she wails. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry to hear that. You poor thing. Romeo said he was very good-looking.”
“I didn’t say he wasverygood-looking,” says Romeo.
“Well, you said he was good-looking, and that’s kind of the same thing coming from you.”
Romeo’s face flicks through emotions so fast I have a hard time deciphering them. I wasn’t looking at him when I said Sam and I broke up. I was looking at Selby. By the time I did look at Romeo, all I caught was the tail end of something unreadable. His features were lax and he seemed to be exhaling a breath he’d been holding for a long time. They changed radically a split second later when Selby spoke, hardening and tightening so much he looked like he did when I first got to Alabaster.
The conversation is stilted, but fortunately, Selby’s here, and she’s banging on about fish in the sea and cutting people loose if they aren’t a good fit. At one point, I’m pretty sure she says something about how lucky I am that men are much easier to get than women, though don’t quote me on that.
I hate everything about this entire conversation so much it’s making me itchy.
I slap at my ankles and start to scratch.
“Let’s go inside,” says Romeo. “Jude’s being eaten.”
I offer to do the dishes, and Selby decides to head upstairs to take a bath.
“Need help?” asks Romeo.
“Nah, you cooked. I’m good to clean.”
He sits on the sofa, kicking his feet up on an ottoman and changing channels until he finds something to watch.I take my time in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher and wiping every surface that can tolerate wiping, grateful to have something useful to do. When I can’t think of another thing to clean, I sit on the sofa with Romeo. It’s huge. White, obviously, and sitting on it is exactly like what I imagine throwing yourself into a cloud would be like. It’s so comfortable that before long, I find myself sliding down and curling on my side with a couple of plush throw cushions propped under my head.
