Page 57 of Long Shot

“Are you?” I narrow my eyes even more, my chest clenching.

“Not a romantic relationship.”

“Ah.” Still, she’s not offering up much.

She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“I’m not so sure of that. Why did you say that, about not being adventurous lately?”

She sighs. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“Huh. You know, I’d never have taken you for passive-aggressive.”

“What?” Her eyes pop wide as dinner plates. “I’m not!”

“You drop these comments, and when I try to ask you about them you close up. But I get the feeling you reallydowant to talk about things.”

She gapes at me for a moment, then closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Well, you’re wrong. I don’t. And we should get back to the party.”

She turns and walks away from me, inserting herself into the group gathered at the bar, where everyone is still exclaiming over the Jiminez.

My gaze wanders down her narrow back, over the curves of her ass in tight jeans, down her legs. Her hair is loose now, shimmering in rose-gold waves as she tosses her head to laugh at something someone says.

What is it about her?

“Did you know that the wordavocadocomes from the Nahuatl word for testicle?”

I frown at Sid but Reese laughs from her station where she’s expertly cutting up avocados a couple of days later. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

Sid grins. “And thatguacamoletranslates to testicle sauce?”

My frown deepens. I glance between Sid and Reese, waiting for her to take offense.

She doesn’t. The corners of her lips tip up. “That’s a myth.” Her knife keeps moving.

“What?” Sid scowls. “No, it’s not.”

She shrugs. “It’s a myth. If pre-Columbian Nahua people ever said the phrasetesticle sauce,they wouldn’t have called itguacamole,they would have used other words that mean testes. I forget the words, I’m not a Nahuatl expert, but there’s another word that’s almost like guacamole and all it means ismashed up avocados.”

“Oh.” Sid sounds disappointed.

I cross my arms and grin, catching Reese’s eye.

She winks at me, smiling. “Sorry,” she calls to Sid. “Facts are important.”

“Huh.”

“Okay, so for these ahi tacos, we’re going to season the tuna with a garlic peppercorn rub.”

Sid reaches for a knife.

“Drop it.” Her stern tone has his hand freezing in the air.

“Huh?”

I lift an eyebrow.

“That’s my knife. Nobody touches my knives.”

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