the waitress thing,” I say and his eyes drift to Asher. “Oh, this is Asher. Asher, this is Phil.”
They nod and say their “how do you do’s.”
I grow fidgety and fiddle with the pumpkin, spinning it on the table. Being around Phil brings back the memories of the nights at the bar with my dad. When Phil would drive me and my dad home, he’d tell me things would get better—that eventually my dad would get his life together. It’s not Phil’s fault it never happened, but it reminds me of a time when I was naïve enough to believe it would.
He can tell I’m uncomfortable. “Alright, well if you need anything, let me know.” I nod and he returns to his position behind the counter.
Asher turns the page of the menu. “I thought you said you’d been here once or twice.”
I shrug, not ready to veer down that path. Awkward silence builds and we flip through the menus. By the time the waitress shows up to take our order, I wonder if Asher’s going to tell her we’re leaving.
She poises her pen above the order book. “What can I get y’all?”
Asher taps his fingers on his lips and I catch Amy licking her own as she eyes his mouth. “What exactly are Rocky Mountain oysters?” he asks her.
I restrain a laugh as Amy’s face twists in confusion.
“Well… I think they’re a kind of meat. I’m not sure what kind, but I like them.” She presses the end of the pen against her chin.
I shake my head at Asher. “You don’t want those. Trust me.”
Amy shoots me an aggravated look. “They’re not bad. I mean, the meat’s a little tough, but they taste good.” I feel bad for her. Kind of. She leans over the table and her boobs practically pop out of her top. “Look, sweetie, get whatever you want, okay?” she says to Asher.
Asher’s gaze connects with mine. “I kind of like to know what I’m eating.”
Grinning, I lean over the table, cup my hand around his ear, and whisper what Rocky Mountain oysters are.
His eyes bulge as I sit back in my booth. “Yeah, I’ll have water, cheese fries, and a hamburger with extra mayo.”
“I’ll have the chicken sandwich and a coke.” I shut my menu and Amy snatches it out of my hand. She takes Asher’s menu more delicately and saunters off to the order window.
“Thank you,” he says with a smile.
I rest my elbows on the table. “For what?”
“For not letting me eat that shit.”
We laugh and then silence builds again. A woman in a bright red dress and cowgirl boots is belting out the lyrics to Faith Hill’s “This Kiss” from the stage as she writhes her hips against the microphone stand. The whole scene is super cheesy, but I start to relax, like I’m finally home after being gone for three years.
“My dad and I used to come here,” I finally say over the music.
He gives me his undivided attention, overlapping his fingers in front of him. “Really.” He glances at the rough people, the smoky atmosphere, and the bar lined with bikers. “How old were you?”
“I was four the first time he brought me down here, and it kept up until I was sixteen—until he died, basically,” I say. “My dad really liked his Jack Daniels.”
“So did my dad… Well, actually it was Jim Bean.” He pauses and his smile brings soft invisible kisses to my skin. “See, that wasn’t so hard and we learned we have something in common.”
“I’m not socially impaired,” I retort, dusting some salt off the table. “I just like my space... for personal reasons.”
“Except for when we’re in the art room,” he teases.
“Yeah, I blame it on the paint fumes,” I retort, playfully. “They fucked with my head.”
The corners of his lips tug upward as he crosses his arms on the table and leans in. “I know you like your personal space and I actually kind of like that about you. You’re not always giggling and trying to run your fingers through my hair.”
I wonder if he’s talking about Raven. “Some guys like that.”
“No, they don’t.” He flicks his tongue ring against his teeth and I bite down on my lip to repress a moan. “I want you to give me a shot. I want you to let me in and let me get to know you.”
My chest squeezes with elation, but thankfully my voice holds a steady rhythm. “What do you want to know about me?”
He