Silly question, Ellie.
Gabe could be wearing pantaloons and I’d salivate. I don’t take my eyes off him as I pour a glass, watching him reach for the bag of Thai food with his ink-covered arm.
“Thanks for the delivery,” he says to the Ding and Dine driver. “Appreciate everything you do.”
“Anytime. And, hey, have a good training camp. Glad they traded you here,” the guy says.
“Me too. Especially lately,” he replies.
Lately, huh? Is that lately, as in the last few hours? I hope so.
“What do you think about the team’s chances this year?” the driver asks.
“I always play like we’re going to the Super Bowl.” Gabe’s friendly answer is positive but not overconfident.
“Have you got your hacky sacks?” the driver asks and Gabe nods.
I smile. Definitely a fan if he knows Gabe’s game rituals, like how when the Mercenaries are on a winning streak, he plays hacky sack on the sidelines.
“Here’s hoping you’ll be playing hacky sacka lot,” the driver says.
“I hope so too.” With his free hand, Gabe knocks fists with the guy then shuts the door and joins me in the kitchen, unpacking our food at the counter.
“You’re quite the charmer with bartenders and delivery guys,” I remark as I waggle the Riesling bottle in question. “Wine? Or are you a bourbon-or-bust guy?”
“I’m not picky about food, liquor, or music,” he says, then drops his voice. “Only sex.”
A shiver runs over my shoulders. “Good answer,” I say, then pour and slide him a glass.
“And why wouldn’t I be nice to delivery guys and bartenders? Or anyone else, for that matter?”
I shrug as I open the carton of papaya salad. “I agree, but I’ve known guys who were jerks to servers and such.”
Gabe scowls as he parks himself on the stool next to mine. “What’s up with people who are dicks to service workers?”
I take a sip. “I’m just glad you’re a friendly guy,” I say, then grab my chopsticks and dig in.
“I don’t know any other way to be. My parents are like that. Guess it rubbed off on me.”
“Your parents are the cutest. They were adorable at their anniversary party. Forty years and still in love,” I say, a little warm and fuzzy from the memory.
“Yeah, they’re goals for sure. They always have been,” he says.
A guy who truly likes his parents? Who admires their marriage? I cannot get hooked on Gabe. Luckily this is just a sex thing.
I snag a forkful of the salad. “Want some? Since you’re not picky.”
He moves closer, parts his lips, and waits. I feed him some papaya, and yes, Gabe eats it sensually.
That’s just his way.
“Mmm. That’s tasty. Not the best thing I’ve eaten tonight, but close,” he says with a sly smile.
“Glad to hear it’s your second favorite.”
As he twirls some of his drunken noodles around his chopsticks, he tips his forehead to my carton and asks, “Are you vegetarian?”
“I am, and I’m heading down the Vegan Brick Road now too,” I say.