“There’s truth in that somewhere,” Joel says, sounding dubious and very careful. “What were you saying?”
“I was asking what you will be doing now you’ve left your job. You could start a food company, you know.”
“Um. Bry.” I tap her on the shoulder, lacking a magazine to slam her with. “J’s got a new job already, and I told you he wants to start a publishing company.”
“Yeah, okay. But a food company would be great! Imagine it. I mean look at all the cakes you’ve baked, and the cookies! You could give the dishes funny names.”
“Like what?”
“Like… I dunno. I’ve been to a coffee shop where the cake slices have names like Eat me, or Bite This. You could name yours…”
“Fart This,” Jet helpfully supplies. “Lick This.”
“Fuck this,” Riddick adds, and smirks when we all stare at him. “As a dish name,” he clarifies. “For cookies, for instance.”
And then he looks at Brylee who blushes crimson.
“Or Suck This,” she says in a small voice.
Jesus in a bottle.
Jet is cracking up, trying in vain to stifle his laughter, and Joel is not much better, snickering quietly.
“That’s enough tea for you, Bry,” I tell her. “And enough art magazines.”
She huffs as she scoots back until her back meets the wall. “You guys are no fun.”
Now I’m laughing, too, and the conversation stops until the pizza arrives.
***
“So,” I say much later, as we all lie slumped back, stuffed with pizza, piles of pizza boxes littering the coffee table.
Never underestimate the amount of food guys can eat in one sitting. It’s frigging impressive.
“So?” Brylee echoes, sipping a newly brewed mug of tea she just brought in from the kitchen.
I nod at Riddick. “How was Jet as a teenager? Did he… I don’t know, did he use socks or tissues to jack off in?”
Jet sputters.
“How’s that interesting?” Joel mutters, but he laces his hands behind his head, obviously listening. “I wanna know if Jet was always so obsessed with bananas.”
“Goddammit.” Jet rubs at his face. “Rid…”
“Relax, cuz.” Riddick’s gray eyes are dancing with mirth. “I won’t tell them it was a sock. Oh oopsy daisy! I didn’t mean to—”
Jet grabs his cousin in a headlock and they roll off the couch to the carpet, landing with a thud. “Traitor!”
Brylee lets out a little squeal, scooting sideways to avoid them.
“And the bananas?” Joel insists.
“I told you, asshole.” Jet pants as he pins his cousins’ arms to the floor. “That was because of never having any parents who gave two shits about us, even about feeding us, and we got what food we could. Between my parents and Rid’s, we were both fucked.”
Silence falls as his last word fades.
“Shit,” Joel says. “I didn’t think...”