Page 19 of Crowbar

I turned to Crowbar, who was watching me with an expression I couldn’t decode, mostly because his face kept pulsing gently, which I was pretty sure was the medication and not an actual feature of his bone structure.

“You,” I said, pointing the rib bone at his chest. “You are unreasonably attractive. I want you to know that. It’s rude, actually. Walking around with that jaw and those eyes and that”—I gestured vaguely at his entire torso—“whole situation. In a pet store. Where I was vulnerable and surrounded by gerbils.”

The toothpick stilled.

“Also, your arms.” I reached over and patted his bicep with my sauce-covered fingers. He looked down at the smear of barbecue on his sleeve and back at me. “These are good arms. Sturdy. Load-bearing. You could carry a refrigerator. Or me. Either one. Both at the same time, probably.”

“Spencer.”

“Hmm?”

“You got sauce on my cut.”

I looked at the barbecue smudge on his leather. “Oh no. Oh, that’s— I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it. I’ll clean it with my mouth if I have to.”

Deadeye choked on his beer across the fire pit.

“Eat your food,” Crowbar said, his voice rough.

“I am eating my food. I’m also complimenting you. I can multitask. I’m very talented. I would commit crimes for these ribs. Actual crimes. Not big ones. Jaywalking. Maybe light arson. But motivated arson.

“The mac and cheese…” I said around a mouthful. “Is that homemade? Because if it came from a box, I don’t want to know. Let me live in ignorance. Let me believe in magic.”

“Homemade,” Drift confirmed. “Three cheeses. Gruyère, sharp cheddar, and smoked gouda.”

“Three cheeses. Three.” I looked at Crowbar with an expression that I hoped conveyed the gravity of the situation. “Your people are feeding me three-cheese mac and cheese. I would die for these men. Every single one of them. Even Deadeye, and he scares me.”

I picked up a piece of cornbread from my plate and bit into it. Another groan escaped me, loud enough to make Noodles lift her head and blink. “The cornbread too? The cornbread? Drift, are you single? Because if Crowbar doesn’t work out, I’m proposing to you over this cornbread.”

“You’re taken,” Crowbar said. There was an edge to it that made my stomach flip even through the medication fog.

“Possessive,” I murmured, grinning at him. “Noted. Filed. Appreciated. I can feel my hair growing. Can you feel your hair growing? You have nice hair. Has anyone told you that? Someone should tell you that. I’m telling you that. Right now. Your hair is… substantial.”

The toothpick shifted. “Substantial.”

“Like it has presence. It walks into a room and introduces itself separately from you. ‘Hello, I’m Crowbar’s hair, and I’ll be your brooding aesthetic for the evening.’” Noodles made a sound from beside me. “Noodles agrees. Don’t you, baby? Tell your dad his hair has main character energy.”

Noodles yawned.

“She’s speechless. That’s how good it is.”

Trent appeared at my side with a glass of water, smiling like someone watching a nature documentary unfold in real time. “You should drink this.”

“Trent!” I grabbed his wrist with my good hand. “Trent, have you had the ribs? The ribs are transcendent. They belong in a museum. They belong in the Louvre. Right next to the Mona Lisa, except the ribs are better because the Mona Lisa doesn’t even have eyebrows.”

“She doesn’t,” Trent agreed, pressing the water into my hand. “Drink.”

I drank. The water was cold and tasted like the purest glacier runoff, which was probably just regular water, but the pill had turned my taste buds into tiny poets.

“This water is incredible,” I said. “What brand is this?”

“It’s from the tap,” Crowbar said.

“Unbelievable. Tap water doesn’t taste this good. Your pipes must be blessed. Holy pipes. Is that a thing? Someone should make that a thing.” I took another long drink and set the glass down with the precision of a surgeon, which was to say I missed the armrest entirely and Crowbar caught it before it hit the ground.

“Reflexes,” I said admiringly. “Like a cat. A big, muscular, tattooed cat. A panther. You’re a panther, pookie.”

The entire fire pit went silent.