Page 33 of My Roommate Is Trying To Kill Me

“You’re offering it like a man who enjoys watching me squirm.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“It is.”

For a second, Antonio just looked at him. It was a terrible, quiet attention that never came off as casual, even when it probably was. Hakeem desperately wanted it not to be.

Antonio stepped closer and held the spoon out again.

Hakeem rose from the chair before he fully meant to. It was easier than arguing. He told himself this was normal. People tasted food in kitchens all the time without having to manage a pulse like a hostage situation.

Antonio held the spoon steady.

Hakeem touched his tongue to the tip, testing the temperature. It was a comfortable heat, so he allowed Antonio to push the spoon into his mouth.

Smoke, tomato, and onion gone soft and sweet. The low heat of chile. Something underneath it all that was richer and deeper than he expected. It tasted like somebody had paid attention while making it. Hakeem’s heart skipped.

He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed slowly.

“Oh,” he said.

Antonio’s brows lifted. He seemed affected as well. “Yeah.”

“That is magnificent.”

“Dramatic.”

“You made dinner taste like somebody’s grandmother would judge me for not being ready to marry into a family.”

That got him another laugh, quieter this time.

“It’s my tia’s recipe,” Antonio said.

The information wasn’t groundbreaking, but Antonio offered it plainly, without the usual detour. He set a small fact about his life down between them, as if it belonged there.

“She’s from Jalisco.” Antonio set the spoon aside and reached for the tortillas. “She thinks most people under thirty cook like ‘frightened raccoons.’” He said this with air quotes.

Hakeem smiled before he could stop himself. “That’s brutal.”