“It’s like doing a shot. You can’t tell me you’ve never done a shot before.”
“Shots aren’t slimy.”
“How many things have I butchered in front of you by now?”
“That’s different.”
I prepare one for her and hold it out. “Come on, be brave.”
Very tentatively, she takes the oyster from me. She pokes it with her fingertip. I lace my fingers together, grinning at her trepidation.
“I had my first oyster with Chester and his dad. We went fishing, checked the traps. His dad shucked them right there on the boat.”
I can imagine that filmy, slow-heat summer day perfectly. The gently bobbing boat, Chester’s dad’s boisterous laughter. The way he slapped our backs once our first oysters went down, smooth as anything. I’d thought nothing could beat them—until the first time I tried uni.
“Sounds charming.”
“It’s now or never, sweetheart.”
Just as I expect, she can’t turn down the challenge. She wiggles around on her stool as she tilts her head back, finally swallowing it. “Ugh!”
I chuckle at her expression. “So?”
She sighs, long-suffering. “Give me another.”
“Attagirl.”
After another oyster, and a stinging gulp of beer, I watch as she dabs her mouth with a napkin. The breeze plays with the loose ends of her hair. Her eyes could be rare pearls, they’re so stunning. We work our way through the entire plate, leaving clean, white shells behind.
“Is this what it’s like when you... you know... do oral?”
I choke on my next sip of beer. “What?”
“It’s salty,” she says, in a tone that suggests I’m the weird one in this situation. “And wet, you know, nothing about it is dry—”
“It’s nothing like this.” I think of the warm, slick heaven between her legs and suppress a groan. The mere suggestion has my dick twitching with interest. “Eating you out is—”
“It doesn’t have to be me specifically,” she says. “I just meant women in general.”
“Forgive me for thinking about the last pussy I tasted.”
Beer practically splutters out of her nose. “Jack! We’re in a restaurant!”
“You brought it up!”
“And I regretted it right away!” Her face is very red. “You know my mouth. It runs away with a thought before my brain has a chance to veto it.”
“And the thought was,Is my vagina like an oyster?”
“One has to look at it and wonder, that’s all!” She’s half hysterical, half on the verge of laughter.
I’m saved from thinking up an answer by the server swinging around with more food. The pork tacos Owen mentioned, seared tuna, perfectly cooked potstickers drizzled with chili oil. Poppy eagerly picks up one of the soft-shell tacos, closing her eyes in what I hope is bliss as she chews. I dig into the tuna, noting without surprise that Owen absolutely crushed the seasoning.
“Hey,” I say, after a few quiet moments, “with Owen onboard, maybe we can even—”
“Jack,” Poppy interrupts in a high voice, coughing wetly. “Jack, I think...”
She coughs again, only it sounds more like a wheeze. She pushes her plate away, reaching for her purse. It falls to the ground. She sways a little, grimacing, her face blotchy and pink with sudden, unmistakable hives.
