“I hate it when people wave their hand at me,” Patrick mumbled under his breath. “What does she want me to do, jump over and serve her a drink?”
I glanced at the overweight woman with her hair up in a bun. She was waving frantically from one of the window-side tables. Patrick managed to put his smile back on before facing her, and Bridgett snickered.
“He’s an interesting one,” she said quietly.
“You haven’t seen the half of it,” I told her. I leaned in a little closer and pushed her hair off her shoulder. “I was in here once when Michele was on vacation – the guy couldn’t figure out how to make a rum and Coke.”
Michele brought out my PB&J waffle.
“Are you really going to eat that?” Bridgett asked as she looked down at the plate.
“Most definitely,” I told her. “This shit is the best soul food in the world, right, Michele?”
“Better than chicken and biscuits,” she agreed. “Actually, that’s the only thing that could make them any better – put a piece of chicken in the middle and cover it all with gravy.”
“We should totally try that!” Patrick said. “I’m gonna see if they’ll make that in the kitchen.”
Patrick disappeared, and Michele laughed. Bridgett shook her head and rolled her eyes at me. I took my fork and cut off a little piece of the waffle, which was oozing jelly. Picking it up with my fingers, I turned towards Bridgett and held it up to her mouth.
“You want to try this,” I informed her.
“I really don’t think I do!” she cringed and mashed her lips together.
With one finger, I traced up the side of her neck.
“You would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t try it.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“Come on,” I urged. “If you can swallow guys’ cocks all night, you can definitely try this.”
She glared at me, and I realized what I said was pretty douchebaggish but ended up rolling my eyes back at her.
“Just try
it.”
With her eyes still slightly narrowed, she opened her mouth and took the little piece inside. As soon as she sunk her teeth into the homemade waffle oozing peanut butter and strawberry jelly, I knew she was hooked, and she had totally forgotten what I had said.
“This is incredible!” she exclaimed.
“It’s awesome, right? Food of the fucking gods.”
“I have never eaten anything quite like this,” Bridgett said. “It’s amazing.”
We shared the remainder with me feeding her chunks of it alternated with my own bites. When it was gone, Bridgett excused herself to wash the sticky jelly off her face where I kept missing her mouth.
“What the hell, Evan?” Michele with one “L” stepped up in front of me from the other side of the bar.
She was giving me one of those looks that, despite my other observation skills, I had never understood. It was a look I’d only seen from women, and though it seemed to coincide with something whatever guy she was with did, I never understood what it was actually supposed to mean. It always ended up with the husband or boyfriend in trouble, though. Often, he ended up alone.
“What?” I asked.
Michele leaned over the bar on her elbows and looked up at me.
“That’s a hooker,” she stated.
“So?”