“So where are y’all going to eat? Bishop tells me you’re practically a master chef, Edison. I’m surprised you eat out at all.” Mike stood suddenly. “Oh man, I was supposed to offer you something to drink. Bishop where’s your damn manners?”
“The same place yours are,” Bishop fired back.
Edison laughed, starting to pick up on their antics. “I’m fine, Mike, I don’t want anything.”
“You sure? We got water… on tap. Beer… I think we got some milk. All Bishop eats is cereal.”
Edison turned to balk at Bishop. “Are you still eating those sugary cereals?”
Bishop practically bared his teeth at his dad. “Rarely.”
“Did Bishop tell you that my girlfriend almost gave me food poisoning last week?” Mike sat back down.
“No.” Edison grimaced. “What happened?”
“She made some kind of pasta that had chicken breast in it. But she didn’t cook the meat all the way through.”
“Oh no.” Edison’s eyes went wide.
“Exactly right. I thought I was gonna die.” Mike rubbed his stomach. “I was on the shitter for forty-eight hours straight.”
“Nice of you to share that with us before we go to eat,” Bishop grumbled.
“Anyway.” Mike ignored his son. “I’m gonna surprise her with a home-cooked meal when she gets off work tomorrow night. I’m making a little something that’ll have her praising me the same way Bishop does you.”
“You’re not going to embarrass me, Dad. Edison already knows I’m crazy about him.”
“I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, lil homie. I was just saying.” Mike looked at Bishop with a load of pride and happiness overflowing in his gaze. They may jibe and goad each other but Edison was already seeing that was how they showed their affection. Even the way Bishop switched between calling his father Mike or dad was done with love.
“If you don’t mind me asking… what are you making her?” Edison inched farther to the edge of his seat. Now they were talking.
Mike puffed his thick chest out and said, “pepper steak… over rice. My homeboy, Manny told me exactly what to do.” Mike glanced at Bishop before darting his dark eyes back to Edison. “Although…”
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” Bishop said, shaking his head at Mike as if he was unbelievable.
“What?” Edison asked.
“He’s gonna ask you to cook… that’s what.” Bishop stared Mike down, who at least had the decency to look mildly guilty.
“I was not. I was just gonna ask him for some pointers. Nothing more.” Mike shrugged. “But if he wanted to help…”
“He doesn’t.”
Edison stood and pushed his sleeves up a bit higher. “I’d love to help. Show me what you got, Mike.”
Mike clapped his hands together and jumped up with the enthusiasm of a kid on his first day of school. “Right this way, chef.” Mike’s long legs ate up the short distance to the small kitchen.
Bishop hurried to follow them, wrapping his arms around Edison and pulling him into his chest. Bishop whispered not-so-quietly against the shell of his ear. “I don’t want you to cook. I wanted to show you my bedroom.”
Edison gently elbowed Bishop away before his dick took interest. Seeing Bishop’s bedroom sounded like an amazing idea, but Bishop had also brought him there to meet his dad. Edison wasn’t about to disappear into a back room like a horny adolescent—he’d been taught better than that. He wouldn’t be rude. “Later,” he mouthed to Bishop then washed his hands in the sink.
Mike laid his few grocery items on the countertop, then started pulling some pots from out of the cabinet. There wasn’t much space to work with, but Edison wasn’t spoiled, he could cook in just about any kitchen as long as it was clean. And he liked that the two men kept their home really neat, for young, handsome bachelors. He took inventory of the few ingredients, then tried to remember his favorite Bobby Flay pepper steak recipe. “Do you have any onions?” he asked.
“Oh. I do.” Mike rushed over to a small sliding door next to the refrigerator, that Edison realized was the pantry and took out a large, yellow onion.
“Perfect,” Edison said. “You have everything you need. And I like that your friend told you to get more than just green peppers. I think the yellow and red add a lot of extra flavor and gives the dish a pop of color, don’t you?”
Mike’s forehead creased, but he nodded as if he understood. Bishop sat at the dinette table and crossed his big boot up on his knee, his lust-filled eyes tracking Edison everywhere. He was used to Bishop watching him cook but he wasn’t used to Mike, and he found himself wanting to show his skills. Ordinarily, he’d have pre-measured all of his ingredients and poured them into little glass bowls to cut down on his cooking time, but he wasn’t about to ask for those. “Mike, do you have any paper plates?”