Max gives me one more small smile, then he opens his mouth and slurps it down. I can’t tell from the look on his face whether he liked it or if he wants to vomit. He simply stares at the shell, as if he’s confused by it.
I squeeze his arm again. "Thoughts?"
"Amazing!" His grin takes over his entire face now, that adorable dimple popping. His eyes are bright, fascinated. "Why have I never done this?"
Holding my hands up, I respond, "I actually have no idea." That makes him chuckle and pull my stool closer to his.
"You’re up. Let’s go." He nods toward the five remaining shells. "But that knife is gnarly, so you have to open them."
"I’ll do mine, but you, myfriend,are doing your next one."
Working through the steps, I pop the shells on three of the oysters and hand him the knife. Taking my time, I prepare mine the way I like best, with a squeeze of lemon juice and one dash of hot sauce. As I bring the first to my lips, Max stops wrestling with his second and stares at me with his mouth open as if this is the best thing he’s ever witnessed.
The salty brine coats my tongue as I swallow it down, followed by the tang of the lemon and the zip of the hot sauce. A subtle moan slips out of me as I close my eyes and savor the moment.
"Damn," Max whispers, releasing an over-exaggerated breath.
Rather than addressing his comment, my eyes pop open, and I narrow them at his oyster. "Come on, mister. Don’t let the shell beat you." I nod toward the knife.
"I think I’m doing it wrong… it doesn’t fit," he says.
I sip my wine and smirk at him. "Sounds personal. Tell me more."
Max’s mouth drops open. "Did you just make a pun, Sade? Like a sexual one?" He wiggles his eyebrows.
"Definitely not." I’m the one winking this time—and I never wink. I didn’t even think I knew how.
What is in this wine?
"Let me help you." I place my hands on top of his, pressing so he knows how hard to push. The knife doesn’t budge.
"Maybe if you let me—"
"Maybe I should pull—"
Our voices ring out at the same time. But I press harder, and Max pulls. It’s a tangle of fingers, the oyster, and the knife.
"Mother fucker!" I hiss as the edge of the blade burrows into the meat of my hand beneath my thumb. "Shit, it’s my… I might pass—"
"Nope, I've got you, just lean into me." His sturdy arm wraps around me. "Celeste! I need a towel or a first aid kit," he shouts, as blood continues to drip down my arm and onto my lap.
A few people rush over as Celeste takes her sweet time with a med kit.
"Why didn’t you have gloves on?" An older gentleman with grey hair, round glasses, and judgmental eyes asks.
"We weren’t given any. And that question isn’t helpful," Max spits back, venom in his words.
A woman, maybe the guy's wife, with silver hair examines my hand, pressing a wad of gauze against it. I hiss in pain—it needs pressure, but it still hurts like hell.I’m probably getting tetanus.
"We are so sorry. Please take her to the hospital right away. We will cover the bill." She smiles at me, and I can feel the sincerity in her apology.
I turn to look at Max, but he’s already sliding off his stool, and before I know it, hoisting me into his arms.
"Max! Put me down. My legs are fine."
"No way, Sade. I promised fun, and stitches aren’t that." He grimaces, but quickly fixes his face into a smile. "At least this way you can look back on today and remember being carried through the streets of Mage like a princess."
I groan. "How embarras—"
