up his beer. “You sound like my mother. The best part about being an uncle is that you get to give them back when you’re done with them.”
“Ah.” I picked up another rib and licked some sauce off my fingers. “So kids are fine, as long as they’re only on loan.”
“Exactly.” He stared at my hand for a moment and took another gulp from his glass. “What about you? Do you want kids?”
I sighed. “Yeah. But it doesn’t look like it’s going to happen any time soon.”
“Are you still upset about Brooks?”
I thought for a moment while I took a bite. “Not really. I mean, I’m upset that the relationship didn’t work out. I don’t like being alone. But in the end, I don’t think he was the one.”
“Why don’t you like being alone?” he asked.
The question surprised me. “Does anyone like being alone?”
“Sure. I do. I’d much rather be alone than in a relationship that’s going nowhere.”
I thought about it some more as I sipped my beer. “I guess I just like the feeling of knowing someone is there for me. Knowing someone has my back.” I paused. “And sex. I like the feeling of sex.”
He gave me a sideways smirk. “You don’t have to be in a relationship for that.”
“I know. And even if you are, there’s no guarantee the sex will be good.”
“It wasn’t good with Brooks?” He picked up his beer and finished it.
“Well, I can’t say it was bad. It just wasn’t . . . a must-have.”
Noah snorted as he set down his empty glass. “That sounds pretty bad.”
I laughed as I finished my rib and licked my fingers again. “It was just . . . not boring, but . . . kind of like how I feel about—” I looked around, trying to think up a good metaphor, and saw our server passing by with a tray full of food. “Potato salad.”
Noah nearly choked on his fries. He reached for his beer, but it was empty, so he signaled the waitress, then wiped his eyes. “Oh my fucking god, you did not just say sex with him was like potato salad.”
Now I was laughing too. “What I meant was, I could take it or leave it. I like potato salad, it’s perfectly tasty if it’s well done, but I never crave it. Like, even if I was hungry and I knew it was in the fridge, I’m probably not going to get out of bed and go get some potato salad. Or if I was already on my couch in my sweats watching Law & Order, I wouldn’t go to the store for it. Know what I mean?”
“Sort of.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Jesus, that poor bastard. Did he not know what he was doing?”
“It wasn’t that. I guess I’m just looking for a different feeling. I want to need it. I want to crave it like . . . like . . .”
“Like a Twinkie?”
I giggled and finished my beer. “No, a Twinkie is a comforting feeling. A Twinkie says, ‘This too shall pass, and you will be okay.’ I want sex that’s unpredictable, that maybe even scares me a little. Sex that makes me feel like I might not be okay.”
Noah went still, his eyes on mine.
Had I gone too far?
“I mean, I like it sweet and comforting sometimes too,” I said quickly, “but there’s something about being a little nervous that really gets the adrenaline pumping, you know? I like being riled up.”
Still he said nothing. Just looked at me, his expression serious, possibly even a little shocked.
“That probably sounds bad, huh?”
He cleared his throat. “No. I get it.”
The server came over and Noah quickly ordered another beer. “Want another?” he asked me.
I hesitated. The beer here was strong, and I didn’t want to get tipsy, since I would eventually have to drive home, but I was enjoying myself so much, I didn’t want to break the spell.
“I’ll drive you home,” he said, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I smiled at the server. “I’ll have another too.”
When we were alone again, I snapped my fingers. “Shishito peppers!”
“What?”
“Shishito peppers. It’s this Japanese pepper that’s sort of like a guessing game as to its heat. It can be, and usually is, relatively sweet. But every once in a while, one of them packs an extra fiery punch. It’s like Russian roulette for the tongue.”
“Interesting.”
“There’s a restaurant in DC that serves them with steak. They’re called ‘blistered peppers’ on the