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The woman’s gaze slides my way, a knowing grin curving her lips. “I can see why.”
Ruby laughs. “Oh, him?” She waves a dismissive hand. “No, we’re not . . . We’re just friends. Old friends. Sort of. Or people who knew each other for a long time and then became friends.” She laughs, a little awkwardly. “But he is quite pretty.”
“It’s the eyes,” Salad Woman says, as she studies me in a way that makes me feel like I’m not part of this conversation. “I knew a guy who had eyes like that.”
“My friend Lisa calls them F-me eyes,” Ruby adds, surprising me. I glance at her, but she continues without looking my way, “Like he’s always thinking about you know what. You know?”
“Oh, girl, I know,” Salad Woman says with a laugh as my cheeks start to heat. What the hell is going on here? “And once they start thinking about it, you start thinking about it.”
“And pretty soon everyone’s thinking about it,” Ruby finishes with a nod before finally turning to meet my gaze, this time mastering her signature deadpan, “Sex, Jesse. We’re talking about sex.”
“Thanks. I wasn’t certain,” I say, then I gesture toward the door. “Let’s head to your place, Number Five, before you take this too far.”
“How far is too far?” Ruby asks, waving goodbye to her partner in making-me-blush.
“You’ll know when you get there.” Like how I know I need to part ways with her before she teases me into doing something I shouldn’t. Like pressing her up against the brick wall of the closest building and showing her all the things that go through my mind when I’m looking at her and thinking about “you know what.”
“But will I?” she insists. “What if I start doing unexpected things and I can’t stop?” We step outside into the fading heat of the day and her fretting speeds up. “What if this list unleashes sides of myself I don’t know how to handle? What if I’m not strong enough to be all the things Claire thought I could be?”
I stop at the corner, waiting for the intersection to clear, and turn to her. “You are strong enough to handle anything the world throws your way, Ruby. You’ve already proven that.”
“Have I, though? Physical therapy is easy compared to this. Especially number one.”
I frown. “Try something new? What’s so hard about that? Just . . . take a bus into the city instead of the subway or something.”
“A bus? You’ve got to be kidding me. Have you looked at those bus routes? It’s like learning to read Mandarin. I’d get so lost I’d never be found.”
I chuckle. “Then try a new food, like the list says, Miss Picky. People do that, you know. It’s not that hard.”
She sniffs. “I’m twenty-seven, I know what foods I like, and there are plenty of those on my list already. I don’t see any reason to go around putting weird, random stuff in my mouth just for variety’s sake.”
I know she’s kidding, trying to deflect with a joke, but I’m too busy thinking about all the things I’d like to feel in her mouth—my fingers, my tongue, other parts I refuse to even imagine—to come up with a witty comeback.
Instead, as we cross the street, I say, “It’s about expanding your mind, exploring new possibilities, pushing past your limits. Think about all the potentially amazing foods you’re missing out on by sticking to what’s easy and familiar.”
“Think about all the potentially gross things I’m not allowing past my lips because I’m smart enough to stay on the path and not go wandering into the woods where the poisonous mushrooms grow.”
I snap my fingers as inspiration strikes. “Great idea. I know a place that specializes in mushrooms. I’ll make us a reservation for tomorrow night.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Oh God, no. Not mushrooms. You know I hate them.”
“You’ve never tried them.”
“Because I know I’ll hate them. They’re so slimy and spongy and alien looking. Like . . . raw fish bellies or something.”
“Also good, if it’s the right fish belly in the hands of a skilled sushi chef.”
She sticks out her tongue. “Ew. Stop. I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to be great.” We linger in front of her building and I reach out, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling as she says, “Be proud when I don’t stand you up tomorrow night, mushroom man.”
“You wouldn’t stand me up,” I say. “You wouldn’t even think about it.”
She meets my gaze, holding it for a long beat that makes my pulse spike again before she whispers, “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’ll text you the location and meet you at eight,” I say in a soft voice. “Wear something black and slinky.”
She frowns. “The mushroom restaurant is fancy?”
