Page 53 of Hearts and Hidden Secrets
“I did,” I say. “Actually, it was quite helpful, because it’s a strange thing to have to think about—the three things someone should know about you.”
“Did you think about it?” she asks as she scoops her chip into one of the hottest salsas, an orange creamy kind that I fear will burn her tongue off.
I point. “Be careful. The orange is nuclear-hot.”
Her blue eyes glint as she bites into the chip without breaking a sweat or fanning the flames in her mouth. She simply chews. Takes a drink of water. And waits for my answer.
“Holy shit,” I say as my jaw drops. “Are you an alien? Are you made of steel?”
“Why?”
“You just ate that and didn’t react.”
“I’m kind of immune to hot things.”
“That’s insane. Watch this,” I say, dipping a chip in the same tub. I bite it, and eat it, but my tongue goes up in flames, and my forehead grows hot with sweat.
“Dylan, have some ice water.” She thrusts a cup at me.
I drink it all, then breathe fire. “How did you do that? You’re truly not affected by spicy foods?”
“Not the way you are,” she says, teasing.
“Oh, that was a low blow.”
She leans closer, bumping her shoulder to mine. “Couldn’t resist. Forgive me.”
My gaze tracks to our shoulders touching, and when her eyes follow, she quickly jerks back.
“You’re forgiven,” I say. “However, I’m going to need to test this superpower with more salsa.
Which kind of ties into one of the points you asked me to share.
I actually talked to my brother before I saw you and asked him what he thought defined me. ”
She nods her approval. “Good idea. I suspect he’d know.”
I rattle off my traits for Evie—I’m a complete pain in the ass, I won’t take no for an answer, and I have a ridiculously happy disposition.
“Which one are you needing to test with me?” she asks.
“It might be that I’m a complete pain in the ass coupled with not taking no for an answer. Do you agree?”
She takes a beat as if she’s considering all the sides of the argument, then she nods. “Those seem accurate. But yes, you also seem like a happy person.”
“And that’s why we should test your superpower. Since it would make me happy.”
She laughs. “You’re determined to turn this salsa eating into my Achilles’ heel.”
“I am. That makes me an asshole, doesn’t it? Point one.”
“I think it just makes you determined, and that’s a good trait.”
We finish off some more nachos, trying the rest of the salsas, but none attain the level-five lava rating of the orange one, so I grab my phone from my back pocket and search for the closest shop. “Here’s the deal. We need cheap tacos, and we need to test your talent.”
I hunt for a nearby shop, but before I find one, I remember something. “I better take a photo of this place.”
“Why?”
“To post it on Google’s search for food reviews. I have more than five million views of my photos of cheap taco shops alongside my ten-word reviews.”
Her pretty lips curve up in a curious grin. “You do short and sweet reviews?”
I show her my last one from Captain Habanero in Chelsea. “Good rice, drippy beans, melty cheese equals unsatisfying taco experience.”
She points to the black sludge in the photo. “It’s like a bean mudslide.”
I crack up. “I need to amend my review. Hold on.” I hit edit on the text, make some tweaks, then show her. “Good rice can’t save bean mudslide lubed with melty cheese.”
It’s her turn to laugh deeply. “I love it. And you post these for fun?”
I shrug. “I get a kick out of it. It’s a hobby.” I toggle over to my food app. “Five blocks from here. Let’s try Mama June’s.”
“To Mama June’s it is.” As we leave, I find my gaze drifting over her body. She wears a royal blue mini-dress that makes her look like she stepped off the set of Mad Men , only her dress is shorter than most, the skirt landing right above her knees, showing off her strong, toned legs.
My imagination lingers on her bare legs. “Okay, fess up. Where’d you get those legs?”
She looks down, as if she only just now noticed she has them. “These things?” She waves a hand dismissively. “Ordered them from a catalogue.”
“That’s impressive, to pick up a pair of legs that excellent from a store. What’s the model number?”
“They’re called legs, courtesy of walking in Manhattan.”
“I thought you were going to say yoga again. Like yoga is the cause of everything.”
“Nope. I’m one of those people who is weirdly lucky. I build muscle quickly. I walk everywhere, and it makes my legs strong.”
“They’re great legs, Evie,” I say, since I can’t seem to stop admiring them. “And they look good in that cute dress with the floppy collar.”
She smooths a hand down the fabric as we continue our quick pace. “Thanks, it’s a Peter Pan collar.” She fingers the thick white collar. “I snagged it for thirty-three dollars at a shop in Brooklyn.”
“I’ve no idea what a Peter Pan collar is,” I say, but I know this—I find her body so damn fetching in it that I want to know what she looks like underneath it. Without it. And that’s where my mind travels for the next few seconds.
But that’s risky. That’s dangerous. My brain is trying to trick me, and I need it on my side.
I need it to stop undressing Evie, because she isn’t the endgame.
She’s the means to the end. She’s the one who’s going to find me the woman I’ll love undressing.
I try to refocus my thoughts. “By the way, I checked out your blog.”
“You did? Are you a closet fashionista?”
“No. I like to research business partners. It was interesting.”
She tilts her head curiously. “Why was it interesting?”
I decide to go for broke and tell her, since I just realized what her blog reminds me of.