She beat me to it. “Did you have a long drive to come to the wedding?”
“Not too bad. I have a summer internship at ARC software, just outside Toledo. You?”
“I grew up here. I’m staying with my parents for the weekend.” She grabbed the pepper shaker and sprinkled it on her plate. “How do you like your internship?”
“It’s the best unpaid job I’ve ever had,” I said dryly, “and about as exciting as your salad.” I didn’t want to come off as a whiney bitch. “It’s not all bad. The other interns and I hang out at Biff’s after work, and that’s cool.”
“Who’s Biff?”
“Not who, what. It’s a bar. I don’t think that’s the actual name, we just call it that. We’re there for happy hour most nights. Cheap beer, and the girls are—” Shit! What was I doing? “Uh, nice. Wholesome girls.”
She snorted. “The kind you’d take home to mom, huh?”
“No,” I admitted. “Actually, hell no.” She grinned and shook her head, like she found me amusing, and her blonde hair looked glossy in the low light of the banquet room. I took another bite, chewed, and then slid the plate away. “If it makes you feel better, this kind of tastes like weeds.”
“You’re familiar with what weeds taste like?”
Unfortunately, I was. I didn’t pick up my speed until my sophomore year of high school, so up until that point, I got my facemask smashed in the grass a bunch. “The landscaping on the practice field left a lot to be desired.”
Her posture went stiff. “Football? When you said you played ball, I thought . . .” Her face skewed with a strange expression. Had she figured out who I was? It seemed unlikely as she pushed her plate away. “I’m going to get that drink. You want something?”
I hadn’t touched my beer since I sat down. Maybe I’d been too distracted by her. “No, I’m good. Thanks, though.”
While she was gone, the waiter cleared our plates and the second course arrived. Soup in small cups, which smelled good. Well, all except Kayla’s.
“What the heck?” she said as she set down her drink and plopped into her chair, staring at her soup.
“I didn’t realize yours was different until it was too late. Our server might be Batman. One second he’s there, and the next he’s gone.”
She stuck her spoon into her cup and stirred, scrutinizing the red broth. Then, she risked a taste, and her face said it all. Not good.
“It’s cabbage.” It was like even the words tasted awful. “What’s yours?”
“Minestrone, I think.” And it was delicious, but she didn’t need to know, unless . . . I inched the cup toward her. “We can share.”
“Spoons going from our mouths into the same bowl repeatedly?” Amusement lit her eyes. “Well, that sounds like a great way to get mono.”
“I don’t have mono.”
“I bet all the wholesome girls at Biff’s say that, too.”
I choked back a chuckle. “So, what do you do? Work? School?”
“School. I’m a journalism major at—”
I shot abruptly to my feet, latching an arm on the waiter’s shoulder. I had to grab him before he vaporized again. “Hey, man…” I gestured to Kayla. “What’s up with her food?”
The waiter’s bored gaze went from me down to her soup. “Is something wrong with it?”
“Not exactly,” Kayla said. “But it’s different than everyone else’s.”
Was he trying not to roll his eyes? “You ordered the dietary-restricted meal option.”
“No, I didn’t. I mean, I marked vegetarian, but—”
She was a vegetarian? I’d die without iron and protein.
“Same thing,” the guy said. There was a tone I didn’t care for, but I kept my mouth shut as the waiter looked down at her. “It’s easier if we only offer the two options, regular or restricted.”
“Oh.” Her gaze fell to her soup. “What are the restrictions?”
“No meat. No nuts.”
Relief streaked across her expression. “I don’t like nuts anyway—”
The waiter hadn’t finished. “No shellfish, dairy, gluten, or citrus. Would you care for more soup?”
She shuddered. “No, thanks.”
The guy took off for another table as I lowered back into my seat. Jesus. His list had ruled out pretty much everything that made food taste like food. She eyed my soup with envy, then tried to disguise it.
“Not to sound like a huge dick,” I said, “but I cannot wait to see what he brings you next.”
-3-
KAYLA
Jay had a look of Christmas-morning anticipation as the waiter set down my entrée plate.
I stared at the meal that looked like it had already been eaten once, and was unable to keep the dread from my voice. “What. Is. That?”
“Tofurkey, mashed eggplant, and quinoa.” The waiter said it like it should have been obvious.
My mouth went dry. “Toe-what?”
“Tofu with a turkey-flavor additive.” Then, he was gone.
The brown circle of tofu on the side of my plate was . . . haunting. I couldn’t look away.
“Holy shit.” Jay’s deep voice broke the spell. “I gotta try that. No way it tastes as bad as it sounds.”
He didn’t wait for permission. We both readied our forks, dug into the brown substance, and exchanged a look before taking the plunge that wordlessly said, “See you on the other side.”
The texture wasn’t what I expected. It was smooth, and sort of silky, and . . . oh my God! It was gritty. It stuck to my teeth like glue. The plastic-y aftertaste. Horror overtook me and was mirrored perfectly on Jay’s handsome face.
“What do I do?” I choked out through a mouthful of the glop.
“Never thought I’d say this, but for the love of God, don’t swallow!”
We dove for our napkins. It was rude, but I couldn’t help it. I tried to spit it out discreetly, then washed it down with as much of my rum and Coke as possible. The syrupy drink and tofurkey combo was almost worse. Almost. The grainy sweetness lingered, and I took another long gulp from my tall glass. Beside me, Jay chugged his beer, and I gazed at him out of the corner of my eye.
His sandy-blond hair was untamed, falling into his eyes, and he had a day or two of scruff darkening his jaw. It gave him just enough edge to keep me from labeling his looks as all-American. Like a sexier, blonder version of Jason Witten. But those eyes, though. His baby blues were pale against his golden skin, and the irises were ringed with a dark sapphire, making them pop.
His eyes were mesmerizing.
There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place it.
He was also more than a foot taller than I was, and his frame had been cut from stone. I’d bounced off his chest earlier, and unless he was wearing a steel undershirt, the guy was ripped. Just looking at him gave me a flutter in my belly, or “the vapors,” as my grandmother called it.
Oh, yeah. Jay definitely gave me the vapors.
I swallowed the last sip of my drink and prayed the tofurkey taste went down with it. “That was close.”
“You’re telling me.” He was serious. “That’s got to be what death tastes like.”