"But, I tasted it before we left. It was the worst thing I've ever had in my mouth, and that's coming from the man who had to endure Zoe Stevens' tongue on more than one occasion."
She laughs. "Well, what you ate earlier was an especially bad version I made so I could see the look on your face. You don't think I knew how much you hated my cooking? Please. Your distaste was about as subtle as a gorilla with a hangover. So, for the past few weeks, whenever you thought I was going to yoga with Tristan, I was actually coming here and having cooking lessons with your mom. She taught me how to make the perfect green bean casserole over a week ago. I came around yesterday, and we made this one for tonight. Pretty yummy, right?"
I feel myself tensing as that information sinks in. "So, the one I tasted this afternoon was –"
"A decoy. As were all the others you've had to endure over the past week. I'd feel bad, but sweetie, your face as you tried to hide how bad they were? I mean, those were some Oscar-winning performances, right there."
Snickers echo around the table as heat runs up my neck. I can't figure out if I'm furious or more turned on than I've ever been in my life.
"You made me eat terrible food as a joke?" I put down my knife and fork and stare at her.
Whatever she sees on my face makes her smile fade. "Uh ... well, it seemed funny at the time. Now, not so much."
"Swapping sugar for salt?"
"Honest mistake." She leans away from me and lowers her voice. "The first time."
"And all the other times?"
She cringes. "Comedy gold?"
I turn to my mother, who's watching with amusement. "And you," I say. "You were in on this? You swapped out her horror casserole just to mess with me?"
Mom gives me a warm smile. "Oh, sweetie, it was just a bit of harmless fun."
"Harmless?" I say, my voice rising. "Did you eat any of her food?"
She screws up her face. "Oh, God, no. The smell alone made my stomach scream and run for cover."
My dad stands to refill our wine glasses. "Should I have any idea what's going on right now?"
"Just torturing, Ethan, honey," Mom says. "You know, for giggles."
I run my fingers through my hair and exhale. Evil goddamn women. If they continue to gang up on me when we're married, I'm in for a world of hurt.
"Wait a minute," Elissa says, staring warily at her plate. "Cassie cooked the beans?" She looks at me in panic. "Why the hell didn't you warn me? Do you want me to die? Because I've eaten her cooking before. It could happen."
Cassie's mouth drops open. "Hey! Not cool. Not untrue but not cool."
"Babe," Elissa says, "you know I love you, but in college you served me chicken that was black on the outside and raw on the inside. I'm lucky I didn't end up in the emergency room. I'm just saying that your food should come with a warning label. Like, Consume at your own risk, or Stomach hazard ahead. Informed choices and all that."
"Well, technically," Cassie says, "it doesn't need a label, because your mom cooked most of it. She made all the individual parts, and then I mixed them together. Maggie says that mixing is one of my strongest culinary talents. That and opening packages."
"You're amazing at that," Mom adds in her usual helpful way.
Cassie smiles. "Look, I know I'll never be a great chef, but at least I'm trying, right? And even if I didn't technically cook the beans, I still get credit for the joke."
Josh piles more beans onto his plate. "Well, I don't care if the Flying Spaghetti Monster cooked these. They're my life now, so if you could all keep it down, we'd like some alone time."
???
After a few more minutes of dinner conversation, The Great Green Bean Casserole Sting has been forgotten, and we're all back to enjoying the feast.
As Mom and Dad talk with Elissa and Josh about their new show, Cassie puts her hand on my thigh and leans over.
"Sooooo." She gives me a nervous smile. "On a scale of one to the Red Room of Pain, how much do you want to punish me right now?"
I take a sip of wine. "Oh, you broke the scale, lady. It's a tangled mess on the floor."
Her fingers tighten on my thigh before traveling closer to my crotch. "But it wasn't all bad, was it? I mean, I made up for all of the horrible food by rewarding you with ..." Her hand moves higher. "You know ... dessert. Right?"
I'm flooded with memories of her spread open in front of me, her sweetness on my tongue. I clear my throat as ninety percent of the blood in my body rushes to my cock. "So, are you saying that if you hadn't tricked me into eating Satan's leftovers, you wouldn't have given me ... dessert?" I raise my eyebrow. "Seems to me that would have been foolish, considering you got just as much out of those dining sessions as I did. If not more."
She stares at my mouth and licks her lips. "Well, yes, you are very good at dining. Like, crazy good. If you ever failed as an actor, you could become a professional diner. Which leads me to ask, are you planning on having dessert later?"