Page 22 of Hale Yes (Highway to Hale #1)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Foreplay… Texas style
Nicolette
That Friday Helix picks me up in his spaceship car and drives me across Houston to Carver’s Family BBQ restaurant. It’s rustic, with wood beams crisscrossing overhead and simple light fixtures hanging down from the ceiling.
I let Helix order, and he got us two Coors Lights and a two-person sampler platter. Though platter might be too generous a word.
“Here ya go, sweeties,” a woman named Opal says, plopping down a sheet of butcher paper laden with all kinds of smoked meats and sides.
Then she stretches out two more lengths of butcher paper, cuts them with a pocketknife, and slaps them down in front of Helix and me. Apparently, these are our plates.
Glancing around the restaurant, I look for a side table with forks and spoons. “Where do we get silverware?”
Opal laughs like that’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Guessing this is your first time at Carver’s, honey.”
“She grew up in New Jersey,” Helix explains with a playful glint in his crystal eyes.
Opal winks and produces two giant serrated knives from her apron and places one in front of each of us before sauntering away, tossing, “Have fun, Jersey,” over her shoulder.
“No forks allowed,” Helix explains. “That’s why they don’t serve potato salad or beans or anything else requiring a fork.”
“So we just…”
“Get down and dirty and eat with our hands. It’s part of the charm,” Helix replies with a grin.
“Excellent,” I say, wiggling my fingers in preparation for the feast as I survey the selection. Though I feel a little twinge in the pit of my core at the down and dirty line.
There are ribs, sliced pork loin, jalapeno-cheese sausage, and sliced brisket, as well as a large block of cheddar cheese, a full onion with the ends cut off, and a bowl of pickle chips. “What are those?” I ask, pointing at two piles of sides.
“Fried okra and Carver’s potatoes.”
“Hmmm.” I take a little of each meat, one potato, and a small pile of okra. “I’ve never had fried okra, only boiled or sautéed with tomatoes.” I inspect the piece in my hand. It appears to be coated with corn meal.
“It’s good like this, and the potatoes are excellent. They toss the slices in butter and seasoning and then roast them.”
Popping the okra into my mouth, I feel my eyes widen. It’s crispy, salty, and utterly delicious. Then I pick up a potato slice and bite into it, assaulting my taste buds with the flavor of butter and garlic.
“Okay, I’m a fan,” I say, eating the rest of the potato. “And I haven’t even tried the meat yet.” Following Helix’s lead, I grab a few dill pickle chips—with my fingers—before using my big knife to cut off a slice of onion and a hunk of cheese.
And then we chow down. Every single thing is fan-freaking-tastic, and there are only scraps left by the time we’re done. I drag my last piece of brisket through the barbecue sauce I squirted on my butcher paper and stuff it into my mouth.
My fingers are coated with sauce and seasoning, and I waggle them at Helix. “Are we allowed to use napkins?”
“Sure, but there’s a better way to clean up.” With a wicked grin, he proceeds to suck each of his fingers into his mouth. That really shouldn’t be so damn hot, but there’s something incredibly erotic about his thick fingers sliding between those perfect lips as his tongue swirls up every last bit.
I follow suit, savoring the flavorful remnants, and don’t miss the way his eyes also track my movements. Jesus, this is like foreplay… Texas style. Picking up my beer, I drain it in an attempt to cool my libido.
“What’d ya think, Jersey?” Opal asks, sliding up to our table and tossing some Wet-Naps onto the surface. She’s gotta be in her seventies, but she moves with the spryness of someone half her age.
“Excellent,” I tell her, opening one of the packs and cleaning my hands with the damp, lemon-scented napkin. “Best barbecue I’ve ever had.”
She beams at me, her dark-skinned face as sunshiny as the yellow of her Carver’s Family BBQ T-shirt. “My niece is the pitmaster here. Took over the business after her daddy had a stroke.”
“Really?” I ask, feeling a little guilty that the idea of a female pitmaster would come as a surprise to me.
“Yeppers. You’ll probably get to meet her in a minute. She usually makes the rounds about this time.” Her eyes shift to the left and brighten with pride. “Ah, there she is. Shonda, honey, come meet Jersey.”
A pretty woman with skin a few shades lighter than her aunt’s walks over, her tall frame towering over Opal’s. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, and small lines around her eyes and mouth tell me she probably smiles a lot.
“I’m guessing you’re Jersey,” Shonda says, greeting me with a firm handshake. “Shonda Carver-King.”
“Nicolette Bell,” I respond.
“Nah, you’re Jersey from now on. My aunt gives everyone a nickname.”
My eyes shoot to Helix. “What’s yours?”
He winces and rubs the back of his neck while Opal cackles and answers for him. “This here is Rib Bone.”
An indelicate snort rips from my nose. “Rib Bone? Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”
Helix rolls his eyes, but Opal looks positively gleeful.
“First of all, Carver’s has been open for fifty-two years, and I’ve been here since day one, so I've been around a minute or two. This fella used to come in with his family when he was a boy.” She smacks Helix on the shoulder.
“The kid could polish the meat off a bone like nobody’s business, so I started calling him Rib Bone. ”
“I feel like I got off lucky with Jersey,” I share. “Now I’m curious. Does Phoenix have a nickname too?”
Opal nods, her face creased into a grin.
“Sure does. Booger.” I laugh and wiggle my fingers at her to let her know I need this story.
She willingly complies. “That boy was a mess. One time he announced to the whole restaurant that he had a giant booger in his nose. Turns out, he’d just stuck a piece of fried okra up in there. ”
My words come out in gasps between my laughter. “That’s hilarious.”
Helix chuckles and shakes his head at the memory. “Dad tried to get it out, but we ended up in the emergency room that night.”
“Never a dull moment when the Hales came to eat,” Shonda says with a grin. “Do y’all want some dessert? We have banana pudding.”
At my skeptical eyebrow, Opal adds, “We do allow spoons for the pudding.”
Her niece nudges her. “Except Rib Bone doesn’t need a spoon. Remember when his brother dared him to eat the entire bowl with just his mouth?”
Opal bursts into laughter. “Yeah, that was a couple years ago.” She gives Helix a pointed look. “That was an impressive display, young man. I’d still like to know where you acquired that kind of skill.”
His face reddens, and he clears his throat, obviously wanting a change of subject. “Oh, I forgot, I brought something for you two.” He turns to me. “Will you be okay if I grab something from the car?”
I wave him off. “Of course.” For the next couple minutes I listen to Shonda and Opal’s stories of life in a family restaurant before my boss returns with two small swag bags.
But my mind keeps going back to the fact that Helix Hale can eat a bowl of pudding with no utensils.
Christ, what else can he do with his tongue?
“These are samples of our new lipsticks for women of color,” he tells the women, handing each of them a turquoise bag with the Hale Cosmetics logo on them. “Let me know what you think.”
“Ooh, you got new bags. Fancy!” Opal exclaims, and Helix smiles at me.
“Jersey designed them. We just got them in yesterday.”
“Oh, you work together?” Shonda asks curiously, her amber eyes darting between us.
“Yes, Nicolette is a biochemist in the lab now. So you should probably call her Dr. Jersey.”
“If you call me Dr. Jersey, you have to call Helix Dr. Rib Bone,” I tease. “In fact, I think you should put that on your resume.”
Shonda eyes us again, her lips tipping up at the corners. “You two are too cute together.”
For some reason, I blush at that. I really need to get my shit together and stop having flirty thoughts about this man. But it’s hard because he’s pretty much perfect in every way except one.
He’s my boss.
We decide we need some exercise after our big dinner, so we take a walk in a pretty park that’s close to the restaurant. It’s late August and the sun is just making its descent toward the horizon.
“This was a good idea,” I say. “I think my ass may turn into a brisket after all I ate.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Helix remarks, his eyes dropping down my body for the briefest of seconds before jerking away. We stroll beside a large pond and pause to watch a mother duck gliding across the water in a serpentine pattern with three ducklings right behind her.
“Thank you for coming with me tonight. I usually don’t mind eating alone, but you made it a lot more fun.”
His little half-smile is so damn cute with that stupid dimple. “It was my pleasure. Hale Cosmetics is lucky to have you, and I want to make sure you’re happy here in Houston.”
Disappointment trickles down the back of my neck at that statement. “So you just offered to go out to eat with me because you want me to keep working at the lab?”
“What? No. I mean, I do want you to stay here, but I’ve enjoyed the past two Friday nights with you. As a person, not just an employee.”
That makes me feel marginally better. “I do like it here.” I slap at a mosquito attempting to dine on my forearm. “Except for these damn mosquitoes.”
Helix’s laugh is deep and rumbly. “They’re so aggressive, though I’ve heard they’re even bigger in Alaska.”
I pretend to make a slash in the air with an imaginary pencil. “And crossing a trip to Seward’s Folly off my to-do list.” Chewing on the corner of my lip, I say, “I am happy to be working at Hale. I feel like you listen to me.”