Hard.
"Bastard!" Brett almost fell over. "You don't even love her! You're just dating. Something doesn't add up here."
"It's serious, and I do..." my voice cracked on the lie, "I do love her."
The minute the words left my lips I felt like I'd betrayed something special between us. As if I'd somehow cheated her out of having that experience because I'd said too soon. But it wasn't as if I would ever say it to her anyway, right?
I took another sip of whiskey and grimaced as the dry liquid burned down my throat. I shouldn't have told Beth that part. I should have kept it locked up inside.
Instead, she looked like I'd just told her I wanted to set fire to Donkey and eat a puppy for dinner.
"Eat, eat!" Grandma instructed loud enough to wake up the dead.
I was surprised I hadn't broken my hand — I'd never hit a guy so hard in my entire life.
"Shrimp?" Grandma asked as Brett took a seat on the opposite side of the table a good few feet away from me.
"Sure." His eyes darted from the plate to the empty seat next to him, "Where's Paris?"
"Bathroom," I said.
While Beth said, "Puking," under her breath.
"Great."
Grandma threw a knife into the air and then chopped some mushrooms in front of us and spread them out like a fan. For being eighty-six, she had quick hands.
I hadn't asked why she was our chef for the same reason I hadn't asked why she was our therapist. She was insane. Therefore, her cooking us dinner? Yeah, it made total sense.
I half-expected her to be our guide today for the excursion and wouldn't have even blinked if she walked into our room and claimed to be the maid. Hell, if she claimed to be president of her own country, I'd just pour myself a glass of scotch and ask which one.
Brett ate a few pieces of shrimp, alternating between licking his fingers and using his tongue to mate with them.
"Is he eating it or seducing it?" Beth whispered next to me.
Ten minutes later, Brett closed his eyes and moaned as he then gripped the table with his hand.
"Orgasm via shrimp?" I concluded. "I may never eat again."
What I thought was Brett becoming aroused by shellfish was actually Brett moaning in pain. He teetered off his chair and with a thump fell to the floor.
"Holy shit, Grandma killed him." I mumbled under my breath, pushing my chair away from the table so I could go help him, or maybe just kick him while he was down. Jury was still out.
"I, uh…" Brett burped and reached for his water, "I don't feel so well."
"Are you allergic to shellfish?" Grandma asked, concern lacing her every word.
"No." he pounded his chest and burped again.
"Oh, heavens!" Grandma dropped the knife onto the table and rushed to his side. "I think you are! I think you're going into shock! Hurry! We need to get you to the hospital."
"Seriously?" He gripped the table again. "I do feel kind of hoarse."
Grandma nodded emphatically. "I'll get the manager. We'll have you in the hospital in no time!"
Amused, I watched Grandma lie her ass off as she escorted Brett to the waiting taxi. Paris came out of the bathroom in time to see the fiasco. She'd also failed to look in the mirror. White powder glowed next to her upper lip.
"Not puking, snorting. Classy woman." I took a long sip of my whiskey and watched as the night went to hell in a hand basket.