Page 96 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

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It’s the quiet after the storm that always scares me.

A week has passed since Holden’s big announcement. Every day the construction trucks rumble next door. Every day the sign on his building gets brighter, flashier, and more obnoxious. And every day, Chase keeps his cool.

Me? Not so much.

“I swear to God, if I see one more of his ‘Opening Soon’ flyers under the windshield wipers of your truck, I’m gonna lose it. Forget throwing a chair at his head, I’m going to swing a mallet,” I mutter, peeling off the latest one and crumpling it into a ball.

Chase just smiles and shakes his head, “He needs the advertising, babe. And he’s not worth your energy. Save it for me… for later.”

“You are too calm.” I retort.

He kisses my cheek and slaps my ass. “I have better food. We’ve got better people. And… I have the one thing he wants most of all… you. Let him play his game. He’s giving small dick energy.”

I huff. “You do have me. And he does have a smaller dick than you. In fact, I think you should show it to me… right now.”

He laughs jubilantly. “While I would absolutely love to do that, I cannot. I open in half an hour and those dude’s working on his place are far too close. Besides, you said you had to head to the office at ten and it’s two minutes til. Raincheck.”

This sexy mofo just told me I get a raincheck on his dick.

Bet your ass, I’m cashing that bitch in later.

Saturday looms hot and humid. I have no events and it’s the soft opening for Holden’s restaurant.

After riding to the truck with Chase, we watch the crowd spill in. Cameras flash and socialites pose. His celebrity chef beams and waves to the crowd. Every news station within a fifty-mile radius is here.

Chase forms burger patties, rolls tamale balls quietly, and fills his empanadas with his jaw clenched tight. No one is here. But then again, the swarms of influencers and big wigs are blocking access to us.

“You okay?” I ask, sliding beside him and wrapping my arms around his waist.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Just… didn’t think it’d feel like this.”

“Like what?” I ask.

“Like watching someone throw a parade next to your lemonade stand and the throws are free drinks.”

Cupping his cheeks, I make him look at me. My fingertips smooth the lines between his brows. “You’re not a lemonade stand, baby. You’re the whole damn block party.”

He laughs hoarsely. “I love you, Rox.”

I nod. “Good. Because I’m about to steal his customers.” I fluff my boobs, smooth my black pants, and check my lipstick before winking and heading out of the truck.

Twenty minutes later, a nice-dressed couple with phones and selfie lights strolls by. I smile at them. “How are y’all doing today?”

“What’s this?” the woman asks, looking over the truck.

“Best Mexican American with a Cajun flare food in D-Town,” I chirp.

“What an interesting combination. It’s good, huh?” The female says.

I hand her a sample of the shrimp and grits empanada and another of the fried shrimp and andouille soft taco. “Taste for yourself.”

She takes a bite of the empanada. Her eyes widen and she moans as she chews. She points at her man. “You have to taste this.” He takes a sample of Chase’s Tamale Balls. She tries the taco next. “Holy—this is better than what we just paid $80 for. Far better. The flavors meld beautifully. It’s a celebration in your mouth.”

Her man takes a bite and nods. “We’re food influencers. We try and rate food around here. We have a pretty large following. Do you mind if I shoot a quick video?”

I wink. “We don’t mind at all. Please do.” She sets up her phone, facing the truck, on a portable stand I didn’t see she was holding, and turns on the lights. Chase makes them a few more items fresh, and then, they begin shooting.

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