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The wife, Anne, her name tag said, seemed to accept that at face value, but it was the husband who gave Remy a hard look.
“So, what can we get for you?” Anne asked, leaving me to launch into my order.
“I like this one. She eats,” Anne declared.
“If I jiggle, I jiggle,” I said, shrugging.
“My motto,” Anne declared. “Between you and me, the men like the jiggle.”
“I’m impressed,” Remy said a few moments later as we each took our trays over to our table. Mine was just slightly more overflowing than his was.
“This, this is why I choke down wheatgrass shots and healthy smoothies most of the time. It balances all this out,” I told him as I picked up one of the tacos. I’d gotten an array, from the classic beef to the chicken, and even the grilled veggie, rice, and beans one. “It helps that I’ve had a craving since reading that fan page.”
“How’s that?”
“The writer said you once wore a taco shirt and that there was… innuendo. But now I’ve wanted tacos since then.”
“Yeah, I’m always in the mood for… tacos,” he said, and that pause was, well, telling.
I was not someone who blushed easily, but I could feel the heat spreading across my cheeks at his words.
“So, what do we get for Arty?” I asked, desperate to change the topic before I said something I couldn’t take back. I was good at doing that. It was effortless, really.
“He’s not picky. I will ask Booker to drop in to make sure he actually eats it.”
“If he likes Booker so much, why doesn’t he work for him?”
“I’m going to need this website of yours,” Remy said, shaking his head at me. “They are sharing too much of our information.”
“I’m not telling you anything that might get her in trouble.”
“Hey,” he said, reaching across the table, placing his hand beside mine. “We don’t hurt women. At most, it would be a conversation.”
“A conversation that might make her pee her pants because she knows you are big, scary biker guys. I mean this is probably like some college girl who came to a party once or something. I doubt the website will cause you any problems.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. That’s for Huck to decide. Don’t worry about it, babe. I promise whoever it is, she will be fine. Even if she is a little disappointed that she has to take her page down.”
“Fine,” I grumbled. “I get it,” I added. “I mean the only way you guys can… do what you do is if no one really knows about it. Do you like… what you do?”
“It’s a job,” Remy said, shrugging. “It’s not usually as exciting as you’d think. Same old thing on a usual day, occasionally broken up by some crazy shit.”
“Do you like this or chopping cars better? What?” I asked, when he let out a sort of snorting laugh.
“It’s strange to have someone know so much about you when you don’t actually know them that well.”
“Well, what do you want to know about me? I’m an open book. Probably too open at times, depending on who you ask.
“I have pretty wealthy parents. I run their flagship store. My best friend is an amazing pansexual surfer dude who I met when we both started working at the shop as teens.
“I love animals. I hate olives. I’ve had three serious relationships that, in hindsight, I took more seriously than they ever did. Ummm. I once wanted to be a lifeguard. But,” I said, waving at my red hair and general paleness. “And, you know, the fact that I am not a great swimmer.”
“You grew up here and you’re not a good swimmer?”
“I was actually afraid of the ocean as a kid. It took me years to go above ankle height in the water. The undertow still scares the hell out of me.”
“Why were you scared of the ocean?”
“I imagine it likely has a lot to do with watching Jaws at far too young an age.”
