Page 34 of Hot for the Jerk

Lenora flitted into the dining room.“Chili smells good, dears.Probably ready in another thirty?”

“I’d say so,” Raina said.“Did you want me to help you make some fried flatbread?Or did the rolls survive the back of the freezer?”

“Oh, those are already out with the chickens.They were so freezer burned.Only person I’d serve those to would be Walt—the cheating bastard.”

Raina’s gaze met mine, and she stood up again, smiling.“I guess I’m on bread duty.”

“Need a hand?”I asked.

“No.I’m good, thanks.You just keep working on the jaguar there.”Then that perplexing little woman winked at me.She fucking winked.

And my dick fucking jumped.

Goddammit, maybe I needed to start drinking just for this day to make sense, because at the moment, stone-cold sober, it was confusing as hell.

It was two-thirty in the afternoon, and all the grandparents in the room were sloshed and getting sleepy-eyed.The chili was a great idea, and the fried flatbread was delicious.We ate in the living room where it was warmest, each of us cradling a bowl of the vegetable and bean concoction, dipping our bread in it, and for the most part, just silently enjoying a warm meal.I’d eat my salad later.

I glanced over at Raina as she sat squeezed into the middle of a loveseat between Bernie and Effie, carefully holding her bowl and spoon.She looked about as comfortable as a rat in a cat café.

“This is very good,” Effie said, her eyes halfway glazed over, and her wine glass empty.“Just what we need to soak up the booze.”

“Good booze,” another guest by the name of Julian, piped up.“Very good.”

“And free,” Julian’s wife, Cynthia, added.“Free booze is always good.”

“Not so,” I argued.“I’ve had terrible free beer that wouldn’t be worth drinking, even if I was dying of thirst.I’d rather drink warm monkey piss than some of the swill breweries are trying to pass for beer.”

Several of the guests chuckled.

“The states get a bad rap internationally for having weak beer—except for our microbrews.And honestly, I’m inclined to agree with the rest of the world.Coors Light is only good for putting out a car fire.”

More chuckles.

I glanced at Raina.“Wouldn’t you agree the same goes for wine?”

She was mid-chew, so all she could do was nod.

“Expensive wine is not always good, and cheap wine is not always bad.And people are such visual buyers that they’re drawn to the cheeky name or fancy label, then act surprised when the wine isn’t any good.It’s all just smoke and mirrors.”Swirling the last bit of my flatbread around in the dregs of my sauce, I took a bite, shoved it into my cheek, and kept speaking.“That being said, good beer and good wine will also have cheeky names and labels in order to stick with what’s trending.So it can end up making it very difficult for buyers to know if what they’re getting is any good.”

“Do you not also agree that the definition ofgoodis subjective?”Julian asked.“I mean, what I think isgoodbeer, you who run and own a brewery might say, is backwater swap juice.And that’s simply because your palate has become more selective, more discriminatory.I like Budweiser.I know what I’m getting when I buy it.It’s not the best beer, but it’s not the worst.It’s … acceptable.”

I loved having conversations with people about this kind of stuff.Grinning at Julian, I set my bowl down on the coffee table and bobbed my head.“I absolutely agree.Taste and preference are absolutely subjective.I just think it can be frustrating from a consumer standpoint.When you get to a liquor store, see the wall of wines and beers, and everything looks the same.”

“The same could be said foreverythingnowadays though,” Raina piped up.“I mean, you go to a bookstore, and the covers of the same genre are all designed to market.How do I know which one is good when they all look so similar?I have to read reviews and go on recommendations, which is the same for beer and wine.But I typically buy with my eyes—a lot of people do.”

Glancing over at her, I gave her a small smile—just for her—and was rewarded with a flush of color to her cheeks.

“Well, let’s just agree that the wine and beer here today is not only free, but also very good.It gets my recommendation.And I don’t care what’s on the label, I care what’s in the bottle.”Bernie lifted his beer into the air and everyone else followed.

“I think that sentiment can be applied to all of life, Bern, my good man,” I said.“We’re not into the label, as long as what’s inside is good.”

“To loving what’s on the inside,” Effie echoed.

“Hear, hear,” we all chorused.

By three-thirty, all the grandparents were passed out in the living room.Even Lenora softly snored in the over-stuffed chair next to the fire.That left Raina and me to clean up.Which neither of us seemed to mind.I stoked the fire while she tidied the dishes, then we stood at the kitchen sink, and I washed as she dried.

“You’re not as much of a jerk as I thought you were,” she said, picking up another bowl from the drying rack.

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