Marco by Sydney Landon

Author:Sydney Landon [Landon, Sydney]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sydney Landon

6

Marco

Fuck me running, this is the worst meal of my life. Then why did you ask for seconds? And the salad—how could you possibly screw up a leaf of lettuce? I had to wonder if it was just me because she appears to be enjoying her food. Licked her fork before setting it down. She’s eaten as much or more than I have. If this is an example of her cooking, she probably killed her taste buds years ago. That must be it. Damn things have packed up and got the hell out. “The lasagna has an . . . interesting texture. I assume the green stuff is spinach, but how about this?” I hold my fork closer for inspection, and she peers down before nodding.

Her eyes shift for a moment, and she looks almost guilty at my words. I’m afraid I’ve hurt her feelings, but she bounces back quickly. “I can’t be sure since it’s covered in sauce, but it’s probably one of the anchovies. Don’t you think they really give it something extra? I love to experiment with recipes and make them my own. Everyone always said I was nuts for adding grape jelly to my marinara too, but you can’t argue with the results, can you?”

My stomach lurches precariously, and I’m afraid I’m going to blow right here. Fucking hell, the petite beauty grinning so sweetly across the bar at me can’t cook for shit. No, scratch that, I’d rather she serves me straight-up shit. At least then I’d know what I was eating. But now, it’s like a surprise pack of random ingredients that adds up to the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m afraid to ask her about the salad. She probably mixed Drano with canola oil. Don’t think about it. Block it out. Take one for the team. Suffer in silence. Don’t shit your pants. Of all the mental suggestions flying my way, the last one is most important. Hell, knowing my luck, there’s not a single square of toilet paper in the whole place. I’ve thought about shit entirely too much since we met.

I take another gulp of wine and almost panic when I see my glass is empty. That’s it. Dinner is officially over. No way can I ingest more without a substantial amount of alcohol to lessen the pain. Fuck, the slimy noodles. Actually, those had been a plus. There was no need to chew as they simply slid right down. “Most memorable dinner ever,” I say weakly. “I… I’ll clean up now since you cooked.” Or so I thought. It was more like an hour later when I could safely leave the bathroom. She’s put everything away, hopefully in a biohazard box. I swear, if I so much as spot a container of leftovers in the refrigerator, I’ll burn down my apartment and have the land beneath it declared a toxic dump.

She’s wringing her damn hands again and pacing the living room when I return. She spots me and rushes over, laying a hand on my arm.

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