Steamroller

“How do you know how much to put in? You’re not measuring anything.”

“Oh, I’ve made this marinade so many times.”

“God, you’re amazing.”

I laughed at her.

She had more questions later. “Did you put cinnamon in that with the garlic cloves?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure you want to be a geneticist?”

“I can’t feed the world from one kitchen,” I informed her. “But I can if I develop the perfect plant….”

She just shook her head, ran the blender, and made us both another drink.

As the day progressed and we drank as we cooked—it was part of the fun, pouring one margarita after another—I relaxed and forgot about everything else. School didn’t matter, work, nothing. By the time Ellie was ready to run home to shower and change for the party, she was a giggly mess, and I was so mellow the house could have exploded around me and I would have found the silver lining. I also decided, after explaining it in depth to Ellie, that Phil Brooks was back on the menu.

“Really?” She had made a face over the rim of salt on her margarita glass. “I don’t see that at all.”

“No? Why?”

“He’s not that cute.”

“Since when do I care about that?”

She tipped her head back and forth. “That’s true. You’re all about the inner man, for someone so pretty.”

“What?”

“Oh c’mon, Vin,” she declared with a hiccup. “I wish I had your eyelashes or your thick black curls or your bone structure.”

I laughed at her.

“I’m serious!” She beamed. “You have those big brown eyes and that perfect little nose and your pretty mouth.”

“Cue the banjos.”

“Ha-ha.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I’m just saying that you could have any of the gay boys you wanted, but you pick the smart ones.”

“Can’t be pretty and smart?”

“God, no, how is that fair to everyone else?”

I laughed at her, and she left me after shoving her empty glass into my hand.

“I bet you can corral the boy tonight, though,” she called on her way out.

That’s what I was hoping.

I needed Phil Brooks to really see me. He was sweet, funny, articulate, and scary smart. I liked his smile and his laugh, and whenever I saw him, we fell into easy conversation that I adored. I had decided I was tired of waiting for him to ask me out, and I was going to corner him that evening at the party. I was both excited and nervous. Shane, one of Kurt’s roommates, didn’t get it.

“Is that why you’re working so hard?” he asked, watching me prepare the trays of food for the party. “You think your culinary skills are gonna turn him on?”

I smacked his hand when he reached for a piece of flatbread.

“Jesus, Vin, what the fuck?”

“It’s for the party,” I scolded him.

“He’s not hot.” Shane smirked at me. “Phil whatever, like, at all.”

“Yeah, but he’s kind,” I explained, “and sweet, and I could do with all of that.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Isn’t he an archaeology major or some bullshit like that?”

“His BA is in archaeology and his master’s is in anthropology,” I said, “but his PhD will be in biology. He wants to be a forensic anthropologist.”

“Because of something he saw on TV.”

“No, not like—”

“Oooh, fun.” Shane rolled his eyes as he bent to take a beer out of the refrigerator. “I bet you guys’ll have so much to talk about.”

I was betting that the man was a lot of fun if you got him where he felt safe, in his own environment. When I had been a guest in one of his lower-level labs, I had been as entertained as the freshmen taking the class. And he had been so very pleased to see me there. Our lunch had been amazing. That was a week ago, so I was hoping I could build on it.

“Really?” Shane was not convinced.

“Did you hear what I said? We bonded, you unromantic piece of crap. We had lunch. It was great.”

“He ain’t hot enough to fuck.” Shane yawned, picking up a piece of what I was calling Mexican bruschetta from a different tray. “Damn, Vin, this is good.”

“Get out of the kitchen,” I growled.

“Come to my room with me. I’ll fuck you and you can feed me and we’ll live happily ever after.”

“You’re straight, Shane,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but I like anal.”

I flipped him off as Kurt walked into the room.

“Ah, my minion,” he greeted me, making his voice deep and spreading his arms wide. “How are you?”

I pointed at Shane. “Take him outta here.”

“You,” he told his roommate. “Stop annoying the help.”

“But this is so good,” Shane told him and stuffed another piece of bruschetta into his mouth.

“I know. Why do you think I asked him?” Kurt chuckled, turning back to me. “You know, you should just ditch college already and open a restaurant or your own catering business or some shit.”