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Shoving back my shoulders, I walked through the door as if I owned the place. It was mostly empty anyway. And it wasn’t like anyone around here knew me. The smell hit me instantly, making me stop in my tracks.
“What is that?”
“Southern cooking,” Brock said, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me to a booth.
I stared at the cracked fake leather, wondering if it was even sanitary to sit on it. Would I get hepatitis from something still stuck to it? I slid into the booth, grimacing as the cracks scratched my skin. “So, we’re in the south.”
“Nope,” Brock answered, picking up a menu.
“But you said southern cooking.”
“Yep.”
Frustrated, I clenched my jaw in anger. “If it’s southern cooking, then we should be in the south.”
“They have Chinese restaurants in America. Does that mean we’re in China?”
I grabbed my own menu, irritated with him for not just telling me where we were. “You know, you’re a real pain in the ass.”
He slowly turned to face me, his head cocking to the side as a grin appeared on his lips.
“What?” I snapped.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing,” I repeated, scoffing at his smile. “Exactly, you won’t tell me a single thing.”
He went back to reading his menu, ignoring me the whole time. As for me, I couldn’t stomach the thought of eating a single thing from this place. The walls were coated in something grimy and I could still feel something sticky on the bottoms of my feet just from walking across the floor. I desperately had to pee, but was terrified of what I would find in there.
I squirmed in my seat, trying not to think about how badly I needed to relieve myself. If I just didn’t think about it, I would be fine. A waitress walked over, not even slightly distressed over my appearance. She set down glasses of water in front of us, the water sloshing over the rim and spilling on the table.
She pulled a pencil from behind her ear and sighed. “Are you ready to order?”
“What is poke salad?” Fox asked.
“It’s a salad made from pokeweed and eggs.”
“Uh-huh. And what is pokeweed?” he asked curiously.
Seriously, it had the word weed in the title. Wasn’t that enough to tell him not to try it?
She stared at him, not answering. “I’ll just put you down for one.”
“Can I also have the chicken and waffles? And does it really come covered in chocolate syrup?”
“Honey, everything comes covered in chocolate syrup.”
He grinned at her. “I think I like this place. Can I also get the fried green tomatoes, corn pudding, and…what are chitlins?”
“Pig intestines that are boiled and fried,” she said in a bored tone.
His eyes widened. “Yes, two orders of those, please.”
Brock rolled his eyes. “Denver omelet.”
“Way to live on the wild side,” Fox chuckled.
“And you?” the waitress asked me.
