Page 45 of Winning You

Lucas chuckled. “I probably have something Gage left behind, but I don’t drink. I have water though. And chocolate protein milk that my uncle keeps buying me. Probably something else.” He walked to his fridge and opened it, his long, delicate fingers passing over each item. “Sodas. I don’t know what this is.”

“Sprite,” Frankie said absently after seeing the green can.

“I don’t drink that either. I don’t like the bubbles.”

“Let’s keep it easy. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

Lucas made a face Frankie couldn’t read, but he pulled two glasses out of the cupboard, then grabbed the water pitcher out of the fridge and froze.

“You okay?” Frankie asked after a beat.

Lucas let out a tense laugh. “You’d better do it. People get really weird when I put my finger in their drinks.”

Frankie sighed quietly. “Lucas. I don’t mind. You’re a chef. I know you know how to wash your hands.”

Lucas’s eyes blinked very fast, and then he burst into a fit of laughter. “You are the only person who has ever given me an answer that makes sense. Gage always makes a dirty joke, my dad says I used to shove booger fingers in his mouth, so he doesn’t care where my hands have been, and everyone else just…tries to act like it’s no big deal while probably making gross faces at me.”

Frankie didn’t know if that was meant to be funny or sad, or just a fact of life. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m making it awkward.”

Frankie bit his lip, then said, “I’m really thirsty.”

“Oh my god, you aresucha priss.”

“That would be you, but okay.” Frankie smiled when Lucas laughed again, then turned back to the water pitcher, put his first finger over the rim of the glass, and filled it exactly. “Thank you,” Frankie said when he took it and gulped half of it down. “Now. Can I help with anything?”

“Bro. You already told on yourself and your kitchen skills. You’re not touching my stuff. Just get comfortable somewhere and be patient. It’ll be ready soon.”

“Sure thing, princess,” Frankie said. He was playing with fire. He watched color rise on Lucas’s cheeks and his hands stutter a bit as he tried to find his spatula. But the moment passed. Neither of them spoke another word, and soon enough, Lucas was plating the food and inviting Frankie to the table.

“Full?”

Frankie smiled. “Mm.”

“Goodmmor badmm?”

“Amazingmm,” Frankie answered. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes. Unless it’s how I know when to stop wiping or how did I know I was gay if I can’t see penises.”

Frankie choked on his swallow of water. “Uh. What?”

“Trust me, it’s a thing people ask a lot. Also weird questions about masturbation, like you can’t jerk off if you can’t see. I mean, I know those bitches are tossing themselves fucking raw under the blankets in their pitch-black rooms. The ass-wiping question annoys me the most.”

Frankie had no idea how to respond to that. “Well, uh. That wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

Lucas smiled, his nose wrinkling, which showed off his top teeth a bit more than usual. “Fire away.”

“Why a food truck?”

“Because I can’t drive?”

“Because your food is amazing. And I know that some seriously gourmet cuisine can come out of food trucks, but you usually see that in New York or LA or…I don’t know, London.”

Lucas snorted. “Yeah.”

“Not here. So…if it’s not too offensive, why a food truck selling grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”