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“He probably likes it that way.”
“That doesn’t mean he needs to be lonesome all the time. Plus, nothing makes someone feel good like homemade food. You should have seen the way his face lit up when I offered it to him.”
“As someone who’s had your chili before, he’s going to glow like the sun when he eats it.”
“Now who’s flattering?”
I’d had her food quite a few times, both leftovers she brought in, and a couple of times we’d worked together in the same house. The woman could make a mean plate of pasta and cook some solid burgers, but her skills lay in her stews, soups, and of course, chili. I had never known someone pack as much flavor into a dish, and I had yet to turn down her food.
“Telling the truth isn’t flattery,” I said.
“Eat your food,” she said, sliding a bowl across to me. “And no, I did not ‘dote’ on that man. Though I find it real interesting that you dislike him so much.”
“This is your first time being around him, so you’re only getting the introductory version,” I said with a derisive snort.
“Fine, then enlighten me. What’s so bad about him?”
I took a spoonful to consider the question and found myself distracted. Whatever soup she’d made was rich and smooth, and I caught a bite of green onion and the saltiness of bacon. Plenty of other veggies were thrown in, and while I wasn’t a fan of cooked carrots, I was never going to turn down some decent chunks of well-cooked potatoes.
“He’s just…insufferable,” I grunted around the mouthful. It wasn’t steaming hot enough that I had to be careful, but I also knew I didn’t have a lot of time before I had to be upstairs.
“Yes, that really narrows it down, Kevin. Thank you,” she said sarcastically, taking a spoonful herself.
“He’s just…cocky, thinks highly of himself, and his first real conversation with me was trying to ‘scandalize’ me by telling me some of the spicy things he’s done,” I told her with a roll of my eyes. “Congratulations, you’re a giant heterosexual manwhore who enjoys sleeping with women. I went to college too, you know.”
She squinted. “Is this your way of telling me you’re bisexual?”
I jerked, soup spilling off my spoon. “What?”
“Well, you just…acted as though going to college meant you’d slept with a lot of women.”
I thought about it and then flushed. “No! I just meant college is, well, it’s when people do a lot of sleeping around…at least that’s the stereotype. And I only slept with a woman one time…well, tried to, but that was an absolute disaster, and I have no idea how…look, no, that’s not what I meant.”
Sheila chuckled, taking a paper towel to clean up the mess I’d made. “It’s nice to see it’s still possible to fluster you into spitting out far more information than necessary. I almost started to believe you’d managed to rid yourself of that particular habit.”
“I have,” I contested. “For the most part. Not that it was that bad to begin with.”
“Kevin, sweetie, the time I tried to politely and subtly ask you if were gay, you spent almost a full minute stuttering over your words and managed to tell me about an ex you thought had given you an STI and you really weren’t a fan of being spanked during sex.”
“I have desperately tried to forget all about that conversation,” I grumbled at her, stirring the bowl.
I had always been an oversharer. Even as a kid, I blurted out whatever came into my head, including the year I revealed to my father what my mother and I had got him for Christmas. I hadn’t been much better as I grew up, but when all the bitterness and rage had found its way into my heart, that same oversharing had become a verbal volcano. I grew into someone who had no fear whatsoever of telling someone exactly what I thought about them, and it was never anything good.
Which clearly had not gone away entirely since I still found moments where I completely overshared whatever flew into my head when I was flustered and, in Shane’s case, wasn’t shy about letting someone know they were a dick. Well, I hadn’t outright told him that, but I was sure he managed to put the pieces together and figure that much out on his own.
“So, getting back on track,” Sheila said slowly, though I could see she was still amused. “You were scandalized because…he tried to scandalize you?”
I focused on trying to fish a piece of bacon out of the bowl. “I wasn’t scandalized. I was annoyed. Like seriously, what am I supposed to do? He’s some spoiled rich kid, baby of the family, had everything he ever wanted, and everyone continues to let him do what he wants. He has no responsibilities, no job, nothing, just this slacker with too much money. The only reason people aren’t accusing him of living out of his parent’s basement is because they’re rich.”
“And you didn’t grow up with money, ended up in real trouble with the law more than once when you were younger, and have striven to take care of yourself without anyone else’s help,” Sheila recited, reminding me just how much I’d told her over the past few years.
“I mean, I guess I hadn’t thought about it in that context,” I admitted, scooping up a sizable chunk of potato. “I probably wouldn’t care one bit about what he did with his life, but he’s pretty happy to keep poking me with that particular stick.”
“Or maybe he wants to poke you with another stick.”
“Absolutely not,” I said quickly, then scowled. “The man is straight. And I do not…”
“Fool around at work, but that wouldn’t stop him from wanting it…except for the straight part.”
