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Maybe that’s why he wants to keep me so badly. Maybe I fascinate him, like some kind of scientific specimen.
The man who could say no to Cooper Barone.
“Oh my god, this is the best thing I’ve eaten all year. And it’s only fast food,” Coop moans around a taco. He’s ordered far too much food for his thin frame, and I’m honestly wondering how he’s going to put all of this down. His stomach must have very expansive properties to accommodate it all.
We made it to the original Taco Shop which is set on the outskirts of Barstow. The food is twice the size of any of the franchises near me, and I, by the looks of it, probably ordered too much food too. Should have really toned it down. Could have saved myself a few bucks in what I owe Coop, since he bought the meal once again.
Fuck, I feel like a gold digger. Is that what I am?
Shit.
“Oh my god, you have to try this.” He holds a taco out to me, chicken and cheese nearly spilling out the end, and I lean forward and take a bite.
Listen. I know that I’m encouraging this behavior by giving in, but I’ve already refused at least a hundred times, and it did shit all. I’ve been worn thin. The word no only makes Coop double down and he’s been relentlessly asking me to take a bite every two seconds. It’s like he wants me to really experience this.
And I have.
It is good, I’ll admit. I’m not regretting my cheeseburger and fries, but I would have been happy with those chicken tacos too. Just two though. Not the six Coop ordered.
“Oh, you have lettuce on your lip,” Coop says, stuffing a french fry in his mouth. He leans over and swipes it away, causing the unruly piece of lettuce to land on my shirt. I stare at it and then up at Coop, who looks unapologetic.
This is my life now, I think as he unwraps another taco and bites into it. His eyes roll back into his head and he groans, causing the other patrons in the small restaurant to glance at us, some with amusement but most with fascination. He’s really making a ruckus.
Initially, my cheeks heated from his erotic taco display, but I’ve given up on apologizing to them for his untoward behavior.
He’s just enjoying his food.
If they’re bothered by it, they can eat in their cars. It’s not my fault they’re envisioning him stuffing this taco in his pants. That’s on them and their perverted brains.
When he polishes off the last bit of food, he holds his stomach and groans. “I’m stuffed but I think I can fit in a few cookies.”
I let out a surprised laugh. “No way, Coop. You’re gonna explode if you eat one more thing.”
“But I’ll explode in the best way,” he grins as I just shake my head.
“I didn’t even know it was possible for you to eat that much.”
“I have a surprising metabolism. I’m a miracle.”
“You’re a glutton. I’ve never seen someone eat so much in my life. And I’ve played sports. I’ve seen crazy things.”
Like that one time in college, Butrus put down an entire party platter of sandwiches and we found him passed out with a chip bag attached to his chin. Half the bag was gone too. Don’t know where it went.
“Is that so?” he asks, leaning forward. “Tell me what you’ve seen. Were there real live sausage contests?”
“What?”
He shifts in his seat and lets out a small burp. I’m surprised it’s so delicate. I’d have expected a large bullhorn with the amount of soda he drank.
“I mean, did you see guys like wanking each other off in the showers?”
“Wanking?”
He rolls his eyes. “You know, like jerking it, playing with their sausages…”
Another laugh escapes me. “Seriously? Did you not play sports?”
“No, why would I? I played the violin.” I snort loudly, and he frowns. “I have very adept fingers.”
