Tackled by Lisa Suzanne
CHAPTER 5
“Are you hungry?” Jack asks as he fires up his truck after we leave the office.
I shrug. “I could eat.”
“Name a food and I’ll find us a place.” He holds up his phone as if it has all the answers.
“Tacos,” I say without missing a beat. There’s never a bad time for tacos. Or margaritas. Or chips and guacamole.
My mouth waters.
He glances over at me with a bit of merriment in his eyes. “A girl who knows what she wants. That’s both rare and kind of hot.”
“No need to taco ‘bout it,” I say with a grin. “My answer when it comes to food will always be tacos.”
He laughs. “Definitely the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He sets his phone in the cup holder and backs out of the space without looking up a taco place.
“Ooh, cheesy. Let’s find a restaurant where they have that drizzle cheese sauce.”
“I know just the place,” he says.
“You know a taco place nearby with drizzle cheese?”
He nods. “Oh, not just drizzle cheese. The best guacamole in Nevada, too.”
I raise both brows. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Those are some big claims there, my friend.”
He nods. “Sounds like you’re nacho sure you should trust me.”
My eyes widen as I turn to look at him in disbelief. “You did not just make a nacho pun.”
He glances at me, and the hint of merriment in his eyes has turned into a full-blown twinkle. I burst into giggles.
We pull into the parking lot of a small restaurant that sports a huge sign across the top: Roberto’s. He leads the way inside, and the hostess seems to know him as she leads us to a corner table. He faces the back wall, where there’s far less chance of celebrity sightings, and he watches as I pick up the menu.
I glance up at him. “Do you know what you’re getting?”
He nods. “The number five supersized with a side of guac.”
I look at the menu and discover the number five is two shredded chicken tacos, rice, and beans. Supersized adds a third taco.
“I’ll get the same, but not supersized. I’ve always thought of a balanced diet as one taco in each hand. I wouldn’t know where to put a third.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’re really obsessed with tacos.”
“And margaritas.” The waitress comes by as if on cue with chips and salsa, and we each order a margarita along with our food.
It feels like we’re almost...compatible. We’re getting along. We’re laughing. We’re making taco puns. It very nearly feels like a date even though it isn’t.
But then the waitress asks us if we want hard shell or soft with our tacos, and the whole dinner goes to hell.
“Hard shell,” I say at the same time Jack says, “Soft shell.”
Our eyes meet across the table, and it feels like some sort of epic showdown. “Soft shell?” I ask, making a face at him.
He makes the exact same face back at me as he mimics my tone. “Hard shell?”
Damn. Everything was going so well, too.
The waitress leaves to put our order in, and I mutter, “Only psychopaths order soft shell.”
“Only monsters order hard shell,” he counters. “Sorry, but I like to actually eat my entire taco before it breaks apart and goes to hell all over my plate.”
“How the hell are you eating it if it goes to hell on your plate?” I ask. “Why don’t you slow down a tad there, Speedy?”
“Speedy?” he repeats.
“It’s not a race to the finish line. When you eat a taco, you take your time. You savor it.”
“Trust me, Kia,” he says, his voice turning all low and raspy. “I know how to eat a taco.”
I feel like he’s not talking about actual tacos anymore, but, like, a woman’s taco. I bet he could eat the hell out of my taco.
I fan myself for a beat.
I redirect our conversation because there’s nothing productive that will come from going down that road. “I like my tacos with crunch, not all soft and squishy. Give it to me hard.”
He raises a brow, and I realize my redirection clearly did not work. “Hm. I pegged you for more of a give it to me soft sort of girl, but I guess you did enjoy the hard stuff on Halloween...”
My cheeks redden, but I ignore his innuendo. That’s not what I meant by give it to me hard. I clear my throat and attempt to steer the ship back to tacos again. “Tacos just make everything better.”
“Why’s that?” he asks.
“Have you ever seen me crying while I’m eating a taco?” I point out.
He shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve never actually seen you cry, but either way, the answer is no.”
“Right? Because I’ve never met a problem that couldn’t be solved by a good taco. Or a really strong margarita.”
“I’ll have to put that theory to the test in my own life I think.”
“It’s worth a shot,” I say. I hold up both hands. “But I can’t pretend like your soft shell garbage will solve anything. Try hard shell, and if it doesn’t work, you could always just ask someone to feed you tacos and tell you you’re pretty. That always helps me, anyway.”
We toast to tacos when our margaritas arrive. We laugh with more taco puns, and I think my personal favorite—at least the one that makes margarita go up my nose a little because I’m laughing so hard—is when Jack tells me he’s into fitness just as he takes a huge bite of taco.
“Fit’ness taco in my mouth,” he finishes around a mouthful of food.
We each stop at one margarita, but we keep laughing anyway as we eat too many chips and finish the meal off with sopapillas.
We laugh so hard I feel like I’ve had an ab workout by the end of the meal—something sorely needed after the amount of food we just ate. At one point, tears are running down my cheeks, to which Jack reminds me that now he’s seen me cry while eating tacos. I’m not sure why that just gets me started with the giggles all over again.
We hop in the truck to head home, and everything feels just a little lighter. He had a tough day at his office, but we were able to end it with laughter.
Until we walk into the kitchen.
Michelle is sitting at the kitchen table. “We need to talk,” she says flatly, and the merriment seems to drain out of him in an instant.
We’re both brought back to reality. It wasn’t a date—even though it felt like one. I don’t know how to explain what it was. We’re stuck together until February, so it was just two people laughing and making the best of a strange situation...no matter how much I wish it had been a date.
It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. It’s too bad it was a non-date with someone who isn’t available.
At least we’ll always have taco puns.
