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“Sadie,” Rea says. “Anyway, what do you plan on cooking with that mess?”
“Sadie’s here? In Amarillo?”
“Yup.”
“That would explain where you’re getting your evil plots from.”
“What evil plots?” Rea chokes out from behind me. I can feel her sharp stare settle between my shoulder blades, burning a big nasty hole there. She has some real laser beams going on, and I can practically feel my flesh sizzling.
“The date you had yesterday. Out of nowhere. That was all Sadie. I can just see it, especially because she seems like a great blind date planner. What about the pizzas?”
I’m still putting things in the fridge, so I can’t see Rea’s face, but I bet it’s probably scarlet at being caught. She used to do this pretty thing where she’d blush a lot. However, I realize she’s lost that, meaning she’s probably making up for it now and then some.
“The pizzas were all me,” she says proudly, then I hear her soft steps retreat out of the kitchen. Maybe she wasn’t blushing after all. She sounded quite amused with herself. As it turns out, Rea has yet another talent I knew nothing about. The kind of talent where she can say fuck you without saying fuck you. Apparently, the new fuck you comes out as the pizzas were all me.
I assemble a set of packages on the counter, consisting of ground beef, a head of lettuce, a wrapped up tomato, a block of cheese, hot banana peppers in a jar, shells, and seasoning. That’s right. I’m getting ready to rock tacos. If there’s one thing I know Rea can’t resist, it’s a savory taco. The messier, the better.
I get busy frying up the meat, seasoning it until it’s just right. I feel a little bit strange moving around Rea’s kitchen, getting out bowls, finding the grater, locating the utensils. It would be easier if she were here, glowering another hole in my back.
The pizzas were all me.
For some reason, I think that’s going to be my new favorite saying. I’d like to see the face of the next person I use it on. I’m sure it would be epic—an inside curse, like an inside joke, but one only I’ll understand.
The sizzling meat makes my stomach growl. I spent most of the day dealing with the pool guys. I know I should go to work sooner or later to make sure everything is running smoothly, but honestly, it was running just fine before I bought it. I couldn’t have convinced my dad to acquire it otherwise. We used to invest in start-ups and struggling companies, but those days are pretty much in the past. Now we want our money to just keep on rolling. There are only two of us to go around, which is a heck of a lot less than the number of companies we already own, so having something that can stand on its own feet without me having to be there every single day is a plus.
By the time the meat is ready, I have everything portioned out into bowls. The cheese is grated, the lettuce washed and shredded, the tomato diced. I might not be the world’s best cook, but I can certainly do this right.
“Rea,” I call in my most seductive voice. “Tacos.” It comes out like a sexy whisper, like some guy in an old commercial. Picture me leaning casually up against the fridge with my hair slicked back, a thin, pencil mustache on my face, and wearing jeans so tight my balls would probably remain purple for the rest of their natural lives. I nearly laugh at the visual image. “Rea?” This time, it’s louder and a lot less sexy. “Tacos are ready. I know you love tacos. Taaaaaaaaaaacccccccooooooooooooosssssss!”
“Argh!” She storms into the kitchen. “You sound like a sick cow bellowing for mercy.”
“Nope. Just bellowing about the tacos.”
“Which the whole neighborhood probably heard.” She eyes the spread on her table by the window quite dubiously, like as if I might have put something in the meat.
The other day, I accused her of flavoring the pizza she offered me with arsenic, and now she looks at me like I might have sprinkled a secret love potion on the meat. If I thought there was something that would work, at least a friendly I can stand you kind of potion, I might have given it a try.
“You made tacos? Because you were craving tacos or because you know they’re my favorite?”
“Both?”
She snorts. “At least you’re honest—kind of. Actually, now that I think about it, you’ve been way too honest. What’s your real angle?”
“Angle?”
“Everyone has one. What’s yours? What are you supposed to get out of this? You blew a ton of money on a factory. That’s great. I mean, it’ll probably serve you well. It’s a great company, and everyone needs toilet paper, but what else are you getting out of it? That house? You’re going to sink a butt-ton of money into it just to get out of it? And now you’re putting a pool in? You even offered to buy me one. You also gave me five grand just to get new appliances. I don’t see what you’re expecting in return for your money. Let me tell you that I won’t pay it back. Ever. I certainly will never pay it back on my back.”
