She wrinkled her nose. “The food is so tasteless and rubbery.”
He gave her a disapproving look.
“I ate the jelly.”
“Jelly? As in jello? You’re supposed to steer clear of sugar and they fed you jelly?” He looked so affronted.
“It was sugar-free jelly.”
He grumbled to himself as he pulled out some containers and opened them. Steam billowed up and when she saw the stir-fried vegetables and chicken inside, she smiled.
“Damn, there it is again,” he muttered.
“What?” She grabbed a fork from the bag as she stared over at him.
“Nothing, baby.” He turned the table so it was resting over her then picked up a napkin and stuffed it down the front of her shirt like a bib.
She was blushing by the time he was finished. But he did it so matter-of-factly, as though he hadn’t even thought about it. By now her stomach was growling so much she didn’t care about anything except getting some food in her belly.
He settled in the chair with his own food and studied the TV screen. “Jesus, what are you watching?”
She glanced over. “Oh, it’s The Walking Dead. Have you seen it? There was nothing else on.”
“I know what it is. I also know that you shouldn’t be watching it. It will give you nightmares.” He reached for the remote and turned it off.
“I’ve already seen all the episodes.”
“Baby.” That one word held a whole lot of meaning. Disapproval. Horror. Care.
When you had grown up the way she had, a TV show about flesh-eating zombies couldn’t really add to your nightmares. However, she couldn’t tell him that.
“Are you scared of zombies?” she found herself teasing.
“No,” he answered. Right, no surprise there. “I’m terrified of them.”
She let out a startled giggle. “You are not.”
“I am so,” he protested back. He let out an exaggerated shudder and she snorted.
“You can’t be scared of zombies!”
“Why not?”
“B-because look at you! You’re like the surfer version of GI Joe. And GI Joe wouldn’t have been scared of zombies.”
“He would if he was smart,” he muttered. But he winked at her as he forked up some more stir-fry. He was so full of shit.
“Where did you get this from?” she asked. Everything tasted so good. The vegetables were fresh. The chicken was poached but not dry. It wasn’t too salty.
“I got my father’s cook to make it.”
She half-choked on a piece of zucchini and he got up to pat her back. He put his hand out in front of her mouth. “Spit it out, baby. Spit it out.”
She wasn’t spitting it out! Was he mad? Her eyes watered as she reached for a napkin.
“Spit. Now.” The stern tone of his voice wasn’t to be ignored and she spat the chewed-up piece of zucchini into his hand.
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”