Page 210 of The Wicked

I didn’t deal with aftermaths, and our aftermath wasn’t supposed to be so… comfortable.

I opened the bowl I’d put the food in. The smell of fried potatoes, sauce, garlic, and something that could only be described as whatever Dog’s secret ingredient was filled my nostrils and transported me to a setting where food was the main character, and humans were its supporting cast for it.

His patatas bravas were his brand signature, my personal favorite after his pasta and showstopping tortillas.

Elio dropped his phone by his side, looking into the bowl with a surprised glint in his eyes. “Hm. Impressive.”

I took in a deep breath with my eyes closed, a smile spreading on my lips as I opened my eyes again, hypnotized by the aroma and garnish. “Food prepared by my best friend, Dog. Always phenomenal; one bite changes your life, never to be eaten for free because we at Street believenothingthis good should come easy, and one day,one daywe will have our own restaurant, with Dog as chef and all members of Street getting access to eat for free for the rest of our lives, and we will make history, endless meals, endless—”

“I believe I have gotten your point now,” he cut me off, and the imaginary soundtrack in my head ceased. I rolled my eyes as I passed him a fork.

“My mother loved this dish,” he said. “She never prepared it, but she had this recipe book.Patatas bravaswas highlighted with a pen. Although this is the first I’m seeing one that’s made with beef.”

“Ah, Dog loves experimenting with his dishes, but I’m glad to know your mom loved it,” I said, shoving my fork into a potato and then a small hunk of beef and some of the sauce, raising it to my view. “Let’s eat this with her, yeah?” I grinned.

“I don’t know how that would work. She’s been dead for years,” he stated.

My grin died. “Jesus—you know what I meant, you blunt fuck.”

“Oh,” he said, but then went quiet with a frown before his brows went up. “You meant that in a figurative sense.”

I shook my head. “Something tells me many people have died because you thought their statements were literal.”

He dipped his fork into a piece of potato. “You’re probably right.” He ate the potato, and his eyes widened a little.

I ate it too, and I almost melted on the spot. It tasted like a good orgasm. My mind took a second to fly into space and back. “Sodelicious!” I moaned. “What do you think?”

He shrugged. “It’s not bad.”

My frown was immediate. “Not bad? Do you have… Hold on.” I reached for his phone, about to tell him to unlock it when it opened on its own. Upon his not stopping to question me, I searched for the Safari icon and, in the search bar, typed out:What’s it called when someone doesn’t have a sense of taste?

The results filed out, and my frown deepened. “How the fuck is this shit pronounced? Ageu—wi-usia?”

“Ageusia,” he corrected fluently, taking his phone from my hand and dropping it beside him. “My sense of taste is perfect.”

I felt offended for Dog’s talent. “If it were perfect, you wouldn’t refer to this awesomeness between us as ‘not bad.’ You should be jailed for it.”

He took another forkful into his mouth while nodding at my statement. “I never said it was bad.”

“You didn’t say it was good either.”

“Baseless argument.”

“I swear, you—”

“Keep talking, and I’ll finish it all.” He lined his fork with three potatoes and almost all the sauce before shoving it into his mouth.

“What the fuck—”

He was diving for another round, determined actually to finish it all.

I’ll show him.

I shoved my own fork in, stabbing as many potatoes as Icould carry, alongside portions of beef, shoving it all in my mouth. It got so full that I had to use my other hand to support my jaw.

Elio had taken two more forkfuls during my struggle. I had the urge to scream, but my mouth was too full, and it wasn’t easy to chew. The man was eating like he was the only one destined to eat from the bowl, like it would help stop the apocalypse or something.

After a few minutes of me trying to swallow and fill up my fork at the same time, the bowl was almost empty.