Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Leaving the country is not going to protect me. His whole harem has money. If they want to, they can buy a ticket to freaking Italy to shoot me.”
Chase raised one hand. “I would like the record to show that I no longer have a harem.”
I pointed at him. “You’re not funny.”
“And you’re not eating.” He gestured to my plate. “Try it.”
“Stop trying to distract me with food. I’m not hungry,” I said through clenched teeth. My stomach betrayed me and growled.
Shut it. We’re being stubborn to make a point. I thought.
The door on my side opened.
A tall man stepped into the room, keeping his head low, probably so as not to bump the ceiling. Gray hair outlined his temples. On television, Chef Dubois appeared younger and more polished. In person, wrinkles and pink splotches dotted his face. “What’s this? Why aren’t you all eating?”
All annoyance left my body. A god stood before me. I didn’t think it would be a big deal for him to be on the plane, never even considered how I would react with the star power around me. I should’ve considered it because as soon as he glanced my way, I froze with a silly grin across my face. Chase had the nerve to chuckle.
“You all must eat.” Chef Dubois clapped his hands hard. The sound echoed in the room as everyone grabbed their silverware. “The sear won’t hold after waiting for too long. You must eat it immediately after before the crisp softens and those fine-tuned juices grow cold.”
Clearing my throat, I cut into my square.
“What is this meat?” Troy poked the brown square with his fork. “It doesn’t smell like steak.”
“It is not steak.” A grim expression spread over Chef Dubois’s face. “You must eat it.”
“I don’t eat stuff that I don’t know the name of,” Troy countered. I kicked him under the table. “Fuck! Jazz, what was that for?”
“Just try it,” I said.
“Hell, no. Especially since you’re willing to try it. You have no taste in food.”
“Really?” Chase raised his eyebrows. “I find her taste in food impeccable and adventurous.”
“That’s because you ’weren’t around her back in the day. Jazz used to play tricks on me and eat nasty things like worms. Once, she bit into one and raved about how it tasted like watermelon jolly ranchers. She knew that was my favorite flavor. My dumb behind grabbed a whole bunch of worms and shoved them into my mouth like an idiot.”
“I remember that.” Vivian’s somber expression shifted to slightly amused. “You kept vomiting that day. I’d spent the night and every time I had to use the bathroom I had to wait for so long for you to stumble out of there.”
“I kept throwing up that whole week.” Troy touched his stomach.
“We were six. At what point in time will you get over that day?” I sliced into my meat. Steam rose at the cut center. Hot juices rushed out onto the plate. If I’d had a warm biscuit, I would’ve gathered up that yummy liquid.
“It took me a year to get that nasty taste out of my mind,” Troy continued. “I’ll never get over it, and you never stopped tricking me with food.”
Chase put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “What’s the worst thing that she got you to eat?”
“Please don’t get him going.” I waved my hands. “And by the way, Troy, no one told you to pile ten worms in your mouth. I said taste one.”
“I like watermelon jolly ranchers. You said they tasted like that. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not eat them. Clearly.”
Chef Dubois did not look pleased as he watched us go back and forth. As the dutiful customer, I sliced off a nice chunk of the mystery meat, closed my eyes, placed it in my mouth, and prepared myself for the ride.
Fuck. I wish I had a seat belt.
Instead, I held on to the edge of the table as flavor exploded in my mouth. Cinnamon or maybe nutmeg collided with some sort of earthy mushroom sauce. The outer flesh of the meat was thick and crisp, the inner, fatty and tender. Health nuts thought fat was overrated and bad. They sliced it off their meats and kept it away from their dishes. If I could meet one health nut right now, I would slap him. The dish began and ended with this flavorful fat, so lush it oozed with memories of grandma’s large stew pots on a chilly winter day. Those meals put out such a huge aroma that the whole block was hungry, just wondering what the Montgomery’s were eating that evening. When Grandma passed away, dinner never meant the same thing, and Mom went wilder than ever.
I opened my eyes. “This reminds me of my grandma’s ox tails.”