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“Sit,” Rory instructed. “I’ll show you how to eat them.”
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “They already got a good look at me. They’ll remember me; I’m sure of it. And come back to haunt me at a later date.”
“I was the one who chose them for this esteemed sacrifice,” Rory told her. “I promise they’ll be too busy haunting me to bother with you. Now. Sit.”
She slid back into the booth. Christian grinned at him. Rory chuckled. Then he eased into the booth on the other side of Bayli. The server left them and Rory said, “Damn good thing I only laid out the lobster tails instead of the whole lobster. And, thankfully, the cow stopped mooing before I cooked each filet mignon.”
“Rory,” she scolded. “You could be insulting vegetarians at this very moment.”
“Not in this restaurant.” He glanced around. Returned his gaze to her. “We’re in a steakhouse, honey.”
“Right.” She sighed. “Good point.”
“I will concede that we’ve found New Yorkers aren’t overwhelmingly receptive to eating their prawns with the heads on,” Christian said. “They’re not big on getting down and dirty, which you have to in order to enjoy this delicacy.”
Bayli blanched. “Did you just say that you eat the heads?”
While she stared at her plate, aghast, Rory explained, “It’s an eclectic flavor expl
osion. I’d give you all the technical terms of what you’re actually eating, but then you might not try it.”
“Oh, fuck, I’m not trying it even without the graphic description!” she blurted.
Rory said, “It’s more of a southern thing, I’ll admit. And big in Asia, not to mention shrimping towns the world over. But, Bayli, the culinary experience isn’t just about eating your typical, everyday fare. Diversity goes a long way. Like soft-shell crab. You can eat the shell.”
“Rory, that’s disgusting.”
He gently squeezed her thigh under the table. “Variety is the spice of life, or haven’t you heard?”
“Hey, I got all kinds of adventurous the other day at the salad bar and tried beets for the very first time.”
God, he wanted to kiss her! In that full-on, who-gives-a-rip-that-there’s-an-audience sort of way. Like at the farmers’ market.
Christian said, “Just let him demonstrate with the prawns.”
“You can snap the heads off if you want,” Rory told her. “Or take a bite. I recommend doing it quickly. There’s a burst of … liquid. Don’t be surprised.”
“What kind of liquid?” Her pretty face screwed into a semi-tortured look. “And by burst, do you mean it’s going to squirt all over the place and I’m going to gag?”
Rory reached for one of his prawns and bit into it. Chewed, savored. Swallowed. “No gagging involved. It’s really very good. And you’ll love the fire-roasted lemon aioli.”
“Oh, good Lord.” She slid her glance to Christian. “Well? What are you waiting for?”
“For him to be the one to gross you out. Now that we have that out of the way…” He reached for a prawn and chomped down.
“Jesus Christ!” she quietly squealed. “Oh, that’s just so, so wrong!”
Rory finished off his first prawn and went for another. “At least try one,” he insisted. “It’ll give you your first color commentary for the show.”
“Sure,” she dryly said. “I’ll get tons of mileage out of heaving in a fancy steakhouse owned by the two men who hired me to host their cooking show.”
Rory told her, “No one’s currently watching. Do it before someone whips out a camera and you’ve got yet another YouTube video to go viral.”
“That’s your vid,” she corrected. “No one knows it’s me you’re kissing.”
“Just a matter of time,” he assured her.
She looked at Christian again, who said, “If you’re hoping I’m going to bail you out on this one, you’re wrong. Try it.”
