Chapter 17 #2
I finally get the courage to look up at Oliver as the kid leaves the cash register to go get our food. “I swear, I didn’t know,” I sputter. “I’ve never—this is—this doesn’t happen at my usual Cod Pieces.”
Although now that I think about it, it’s a brilliant idea.
I’ll have to ask Bea if we should do this for her next birthday. Not the stripper part, but the party at Cod Pieces part.
Her birthday’s in the off-season for Griff. He could come home, and he’s making the kind of money that would lend itself to renting out a fast-food fish restaurant for an afternoon. Hudson might not have to be back at college yet. Ryker will be grumpy about it, but seriously, what’s new there?
And Simon—my eyes sting as I start to smile at remembering what Bea said this morning about making up with Simon.
Simon would be all in.
He’d make it fun.
In a kid-friendly way. His twin teenagers would want to be there.
And we could all go down the slides.
I never got to play in the kiddie areas at fast-food restaurants when I was little.
I mean, yes, I got to spend vacations in Europe and South America and luxury beach resorts, and there was that one trip to Japan, but shouldn’t everyone know the joy of a kiddie play area at a fast-food restaurant too?
Oliver’s staring at me with an expression I can’t interpret.
“Come on, honey, take it off.” An older woman with a tight brown bob and a shirt declaring her world’s best aunt shakes her tits at him. “Mama needs a show.”
Do I want to stand here and watch Oliver suffer?
Yes.
This is next-level hilarious.
But if I’m truly going to be a good wingwoman and not get left on the side of the road before I can convince him to turn around and go back home to continue running M2G and doing good in the world, then I need to get his cranky ass out of here. “There’s been—” I start, but Oliver interrupts me.
“Is it your birthday?” he asks her.
“Aren’t you precious, pretending like you don’t know.” She smacks his ass.
I gulp.
And also gawk a little.
“How old are you?” Oliver asks her like she didn’t just assault him.
“Sixty years young, baby! My parents didn’t live this long. I’m setting records. Go on. Take it off.”
Oliver stares at her, then tugs at his collar.
Is he—is he going along with this?
Oh my god.
Is Oliver going to strip?
What is even happening right now?
Is this real?
Is this actually happening?
Or is he pranking me?
As he tugs his collar again, fresh air wooshes through the room.
“Did somebody order a fish strip?” a deep male voice says from the front of the restaurant.
Gasps go up among the birthday guests. The birthday girl herself freezes and stares at Oliver in horror. “You’re not the stripper,” she whispers.
“It was not on my calendar for today,” he confirms.
“Oh my god, I slapped your ass.”
“It had fallen asleep in the car. Thank you for confirming feeling has come back.”
I smack a hand over my mouth and turn around, and I don’t know if it’s because of admiration for how Oliver is handling this or if it’s horror at how much I appreciate the way he’s handling this.
“Is that your girlfriend?” the birthday girl whimpers.
“All of this fish, here for the stripping,” the stripper calls. “Who wants to…scale me?”
“She’s my companion,” Oliver tells the birthday girl.
Okay, that was low.
I know what companion means.
Probably payback for me using his nickname earlier. I deserve that.
“Voluntarily?” The birthday girl’s voice has changed. “Is she voluntarily your companion, or are you holding her against her will?”
I turn back to face her, knowing exactly where she’s going. “I’m good,” I say as Oliver’s brows furrow like he knows there’s subtext happening but hasn’t puzzled out what it is.
“Of course you’d say that,” she says.
“No, no, I’m good. He grew up in this weird cult where they called all of their friends their companions, if you know what I mean, and he hasn’t been out long enough to understand the subtleties. If anything, I’m more a danger to him than he is to me.”
He slides a look at me.
“It’s a fintastic show coming your way, ladies,” the stripper croons as he pushes his way between the birthday girl and Oliver.
To us, he mutters, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but don’t ignore closed signs around here.
You messed up my entrance. And who the hell else drops the change in the fishbowl? ”
“We didn’t know.” I jerk a thumb toward Oliver. “He was in a cult.”
“Who shuts a restaurant on a busy road in the middle of a Sunday afternoon?” Oliver adds. “That’s bad business practice.”
The kid at the counter tells me my order’s up before the stripper decides to argue back about his methodologies.
I grab the bag with one hand and Oliver’s hand with the other and tug him toward the door while the man in a full-fledged Sir Pollock costume grinds against the birthday girl with his codpiece.
“It’s getting cod in here!” he crows.
I barely make it out of the door before I double over laughing. “I swear, I didn’t know,” I gasp out. “Didn’t—wouldn’t—never—gah.”
And I didn’t use the bathroom.
Didn’t use the bathroom, and now I have to pee, and I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe, and this isn’t gonna end well.
Oliver sighs.
He takes the bag of fish from me, then does something even worse for my bladder. Once again, he tosses me over his shoulder to head to the car.
This really will look like he’s kidnapping me if any of the birthday people look out at us.
Including the part where I’ve gone past normal laughing and into laughing so hard that I’m crying.
Oliver deposits me next to the passenger door. “Absolute chaos,” he mutters.
He doesn’t sound mad.
And I swear he’s smiling as he turns away from me, even if he’s totally straight-faced when he strides around the hood and grabs the driver’s door handle.
I scramble to open my own door as soon as he unlocks the car.
Pretty sure he’d leave me if I didn’t.
Maybe.
Probably.
Or maybe not.
He reaches into the bag, pulls out a fish fillet, grimaces, and hands it to me. “You eat this regularly?”
I’m still giggling and wiping my eyes with my free hand. “The grease makes it slide right through your digestive system. You’re gonna love it.”
There it is again.
The hint of a smile.
Is Oliver Cumberland having fun?
Can’t be.
Whatever I thought was a smile disappears behind a wary grimace as he pulls another fish fillet out of the bag.
He sniffs it, which has me rolling again.
Who sniffs fried fish?
But I don’t say that out loud when he gives me another look before biting into the fish.
I simply watch him discover the beautiful, delicious horror that is Cod Pieces’ fried fish.
He chews it slowly, frowning, and I realize we forgot to get drinks.
That’s what the fast-food restaurant next door will be for.
Drinks and the bathroom.
They go together.
“This is horrendous,” he says.
“Right?” I agree as I munch on my own fillet. Mmmm. Delicious greasy fish. “Can I have a fry? Please? And wait until you try the hush puppies. I don’t know what their secret ingredient is, but I also don’t think I want to know. I just want to eat it.”
He takes another bite of his fish, this one larger. “Truly awful,” he says with his mouth full.
Oliver Cumberland.
Talking with his mouth full.
Oh my god.
I’m enjoying this road trip.
Road trip in general? Yes. Sign me up. Sounds fun.
But with Oliver?
This is unexpected.
He hands me a french fry, then shoves three of them in his own mouth and makes a rough, low noise of pleasure in the back of his throat that has my nipples tingling.
He dives into the bag again and pulls out another piece of fish.
I eat my own fry slower, watching him inhale the food.
This isn’t normal.
Definitely not for him.
Possibly not for anyone from my old life.
Two more fish fillets later—yep, he’s eaten all but the one piece he gave to me, and I realize belatedly that not only didn’t we get our bonus two fish for free, but we didn’t get the full five we paid for either—he finds the hush puppies.
He doesn’t even stop to give it a squinty eye before he pops the whole thing in his mouth.
There’s that rumbly growl of pleasure again, this time with his head dipping back against the seat rest.
His knees are cramped under the steering wheel.
His hands are coated in grease.
And he’s moaning in pleasure over fast-food hush puppies.
Once again—this is not the same boring man who proposed to my sister.
He’s someone else entirely.
But that doesn’t give me permission for my body’s reaction to him.
Not in the slightest.
He’s off-limits.
A project.
A chance for me to put the same good out into the world that Bea once put into me.
Nothing else.
I swallow twice before I trust myself to speak. “You gonna be okay to drive, or are you gonna be too drunk on fish and hush puppies?”
“Shut up and let me have this,” he grumbles.
Whatever that means—at least he’s happy.