Page 15 of Hot Chicken

I was fine making the tortilla chips and salsa in front of us my dinner until I could get home and find some leftovers.

“I’m starving,” Harrison says as he rubs his flat stomach. I can only imagine what lies beneath his palm. Other than the fact they’re both built like star athletes, these brothers look nothing alike. Harrison has soft wavy dirty-blond hair to Matt’s deep dark thick locks. His brother is clean-shaven with no visible tattoos, while Matthew looks like a lumberjack covered in ink.

“Let’s get the shrimp boil,” Matt blurts without looking at the menu.

Harrison gives him a quizzical look. Probably because it’s a ton of food for two people. I look over at Matt, my paranoia from the other night taking over. Is he doing this after seeing where I live? Attempting to order enough food so I don’t feel conspicuous about not being able to order myself dinner?

“We might need two of them.” Harrison laughs. “I’m not kidding, man. I didn’t eat lunch. I don’t think shrimp are going to cut it.”

My mouth drops open. The shrimp boil pots come with a ton of food. Shrimp, potatoes, corn, sausage, and they usually bring along all the hushpuppies you can eat.

“Order a steak to go with it. I’m dying for some seafood. You forget I don’t get a lot of fresh catch where I’m from. Well, unless I fish it out of the lake myself.” Matt laughs and drapes his muscular arm over the back of my chair, and I can’t help but revel in the moment. He’s honestly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And the little crinkles next to his eyes that appear when he grins cause my heart to skip a beat. He turns his head, catching my ogling, but merely gives me a sweet smile. “Come on, Ellie. Have some with me so he doesn’t make me pick something else?” he pleads, his dreamy smile nearly causing me to swoon.

“Sure,” slips out before I can think better of it. Forget the kid I knew in high school. I’d givethis mananything.

The four of us spend the next few hours eating and drinking around easy conversation. At one point, I stealthily cup my cheek to ensure it’s not swollen from smiling and laughing all night.

Matt excuses himself to the restroom to wash the remaining shrimp seasoning from his hands, and his brother crosses the bar to talk shop with a local.

“Sooo?” Char asks, dragging out the o.

“Sooo what?”

“You two seem cozy.”

I give her a blank stare. “We were sharing shrimp out of a pot. Nothing more.”

Charlene arrived in Candy Cane Key during my senior year of high school. Her parents transferred here for her dad’s job. Or, as she describes it, his midlife crisis. He’d worked in a stuffy office job his entire life until one day, he came home and declared he wanted to move to the beach and fish for a living. But Char’s father’s change in gears was a gift. Because his daughter quickly became my closest confidant.

Matt had graduated the year before, so she only knew of him through my lamenting about falling for a guy who, in the end, was no different than the sharp-tongued snakes I was surrounded by on the daily. Those hateful derelicts she witnessed up close and personal as the taunting wasn’t limited to high school. Yet, unlike everyone else I knew, Charlene didn’t put up with their crap. She had no problem confronting them if one said something nasty to me. I was just waiting for her to get arrested for shoving Jenn’s teeth down her throat.

“Look. He’s hot. And he’s been really sweet lately. But a leopard doesn’t change its spots. I’m sure he’s only trying to see if he can get in my pants before he takes off again. Do a little slumming before heading back home.”

“El. Don’t.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just beating myself up that I’m letting him get to me. I crushed hard on him before he graduated.”

“I can see why,” Char says as she fans herself with her napkin while holding her little cocktail umbrella over her head as if trying to protect herself from the imaginary sun. “Why don’tyougo slumming?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in this equation, by everything you’ve told me, he’s beneath you. So, why not take a ride?” She wiggles her brows at me before a chuckle escapes.

I throw a lemon slice at her just as Matt returns to the table. “What’s so funny?”

“Char’s a comedian,” I say, my eyes trained on her as she continues to taunt me, one brow raised in question.

“Oh, I love this song. You want to dance?”

“Yes.”

I assume he’s asked Charlene and lift my glass when she adds, “She’d love to.”

Wait. What?

Matt reaches for my hand, and I’m suddenly catapulted from my seat. We don’t have too far to go to find the small makeshift dance floor in the corner. The Wild Shrimp is nothing more than a dive bar, but they have great food, and the price is right. They cater to locals, so you don’t find price gouging as with the restaurants in tourist row.

He pulls me into him as he sways back and forth to the beat of the catchy tune. Looking up, I watch as he beams, mouthing the words to “Numb” along with Khalid and Marshmello. It’s infectious, and I return his smile as he bounces back and forth from foot to foot as he sings about wanting to get numb and forget where he’s from. His crooning has me grinning so hard my cheeks ache until he wraps his arms around my waist, pulls me close, and mouths that looking in my eyes is like looking at the sun. He must think I’m a complete loon as I stare transfixed.

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