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“I’ll do the meat.”
“I got veggies,” he said, steering toward the produce section.
In my mind, there was nothing as important as meat. It was the backbone of our society. The difference between the real men and those that pretended to be men. Only a true warrior had meat with every meal. All those other sissies went for wraps and salads. Brock ate a lot of salads, but he was the exception, much like his weird fascination with his hair.
“Excuse me.”
My tongue stuck in my mouth as I turned to face the mostbeautiful woman I’d ever seen. Long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders and bright blue eyes lit up the meat section…and those cheekbones. I’d never seen such beautiful cheekbones that accentuated her full lips.
Christ, what the fuck was wrong with me? “Uh…yeah, what can I help you with?”
“Um…I need steak for dinner, but I don’t know what to get.”
“Well, that depends on who you’re cooking for,” I said, hoping she was cooking for one.
“Uh, I have a friend coming over.”
I grinned, reaching into the meat case. “Well, then you’ll probably want a thinner steak. Women don’t eat like men.”
“Actually, the friend is a man,” she said innocently, not realizing she just sent a dagger through my heart.
“Oh,” I said, weighing the steak in my hands. “Um…in that case, I would go with a ribeye.”
“Which one is that?”
Christ, the woman needed a man in her life that could do this shit for her. Men were masters of the grill. It’s what separated the men from the boys. “Not to pry, but shouldn’t he be doing this?”
“Oh, he’s coming in from out of town. He works on an oil tanker and has a month off.”
So, he was a short-term boyfriend. No woman would stand for a man to be gone that long. “Then definitely make him a ribeye,” I grinned.
Not that I wanted the guy to enjoy his meal with her, but I felt bad for him. All that time away, the man deserved a good slab of beef.
She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and smiled at me. I sighed internally, wishing she was coming to my place for steak. I’d make it just right for her and then make passionate love to her.
“Well, thank you,” she said, reaching into the case.
I turned back to my own musings, but couldn’t help but watch what she was picking up. I cringed when she chose the lean steak. Against my better judgment, I spoke up.
“You really don’t want to do that.”
“Do what?” she asked, picking the worst cut of meat.
“That,” I pointed at the package in her hand. “That’s a terrible choice.”
“But you said to get a ribeye,” she said in confusion, staring at the package curiously.
Sighing, I shook my head. “Alright, when it comes to steak, you only go for lean if you don’t care about flavor. And if a man is working on an oil tanker, he wants flavor.”
“Why? Is this some oil tanker rule that I don’t know about?”
“No, but a man working on an oil tanker is a man’s man. He eats meat and grunts when he drinks beer.”
The chuckle that left her lips sent tingles fluttering inside me. Shit, I was turning into a girl.
“I had no idea there was such a thing. Although, he does have big muscles. It would make sense that he would need a little fat.”
I ignored the big muscle comment and got back to the point. “See, the flavor is in the fat. You want a steak that’s marbled.” I grabbed the best cut out of the case and handed it to her.