Page 61 of Fan Favorite

Fuck.

“One of everything!” Peter announced to the cashier, like he was Daddy Warbucks showing little orphan Annie the world.

The Taco Bell cashier stared at him, her sparkly purple eyelids stalled at a bored half-mast.

“God, Peter, don’t be so embarrassing.” Edie nudged him out of the way with her hip. “Don’t mind him,” she said to the cashier. “He’s the type of person who drinks coffee made out of mushrooms. Can you believe that? Mushrooms! But you’re from LA, of course you’ve seen it all.” Edie and the cashier exchanged a look before Edie turned back to him. “You got guardrails, or should I really just order everything?”

Peter was about to explain that mushroom coffee was chock full of health benefits and alsodelicious, but then he realized he didn’t want to be the annoying partial vegan with acid reflux issues who special-ordered his mushroom brew from Finland right now.

“Nope,” he said. “Shoot your best shot, Pepper.”

“I like your attitude, Kennedy. Now give me your credit card.”

Peter dug out his wallet and handed over his AMEX.

“Don’t forget the margaritas,” he said, even though the thought of a margarita made his esophagus burn.

“You say you know me, but then think I could forget the margaritas.” Edie shook her head before turning back to the cashier.

Peter dug a handful of Tums out of his pocket and walked through the empty restaurant to a plastic booth in the corner. He brushed the seats and table off with paper napkins, wondering how she knew about the mushroom coffee. Jessa? So they’d been talking about him. Great. Another fucking thing to be anxious about. He sat down. He needed to relax. Ever since he’d steered the limo over that parking divider, he’d been grossly overcompensating for the tightrope of lies he found himself on. But were they lies, exactly? Or completely normal, behind-the-scenes machinationsThe Keywas built on? Edie walked toward him in a playful Jessica Rabbit slink, pointing one leg and then the other in her sexy black gown. She had a full tray, and his credit card was tucked into her cleavage.

“I got you margaritasanda Mountain Dew,” she said mischievously, setting the tray on the table. “Just to see if your brain would explode.”

“How thoughtful.”

“I said to Sandra, ‘Sandra, if it’s neon green and full of sugar, he wants it.’” She handed him a plastic cup and straw. “Do the Dew, Peter,” she laughed before sliding into the other side of the booth.

“I’m definitely going to regret this tomorrow, aren’t I?”

“Probably. But we’ll have fun tonight.”

So, she was having fun. Peter relaxed a bit.

“Okay, I got us a bunch of stuff to share,” Edie continued. “Doritos Locos, Nachos Bell Grande, Crunchwrap Supreme, extra margaritas because Sandra says liquor’s done at three—”

“What the hell is a Crunchwrap Supreme?”

“You’re thinking about it too hard, Peter. Trust me, as soon as all that trans fat hits your tongue, serotonin’s gonna flood your brain and you’re gonna be on your knees thanking me.”

Out of nowhere, an image of Peter on his knees with his head up her dress, thanking her, came to mind. He choked on his Mountain Dew.

“Are you okay?”

“Great,” he sputtered, trying to recover himself. “What flavor is this anyway? What do they call it?”

“I’m not sure. Original flavor? Mountain Dew flavor? Let me taste it.” Edie took the plastic cup, and he watched her wrap her lips around the straw. “Mmm… it tastes exactly like what sunshine would taste like if it were caffeinated and bubbled and poured into a glass. It’s perfection.”

“While I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he said, unwrapping a taco, “I think I’ll stick to the margarita.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged.

Peter took a sip of the margarita and held himself back from exhaling a stream of fire as the acid hit his throat. Maybe Jessa was right—maybe it was time to see a doctor. Most likely it was an ulcer that was going to explode one day and kill him. Maybe tonight. Peter looked at Edie, happily munching on a taco, and had the strange thought that if he died eating junk food with her, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst way to go.

“So,” he said, throwing caution to the wind and squirting fire sauce on his dinner. “Tonight seemed to go well.”

“It was great,” she said, pulling a chip from their Nachos Bell Grande.

“It was great? That’s all you have to say? Do you know how long it took the set designers to hang those balloons?”

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