Page 60 of Bagging the Blueliner
“A chick flick?” I asked, slightly surprised.
“Already regretting letting me choose?”
“No.”
“Good.” She pressed play.
Watching Hannah was more entertaining than the movie. Her facial expressions were adorable, and it was easy to see she knew this movie by heart as she mouthed words along with the actors on screen.
There was a moment when it seemed like the two main love interests were catching feelings for each other, and Hannah screamed at the TV, “Make out already!”
Chuckling, I stated the obvious, “They can’t hear you. You do know that, right?” She flopped around on the couch, and I mused, “I never took you for a romantic.”
“I’m not. I can’t stand the sexual tension. They’re clearly attracted to each other. Why do we need the buildup? I want them to stop tiptoeing around and act on it. Forget the flowers and sweet gestures. Sometimes, a girl just needs to be railed.”
Never let it be said that this woman didn’t have a way with words.
The intercom buzzed before I could respond, and Hannah paused the movie so I could buzz up the delivery driver with our food. Within minutes, the food was in hand, and I unbagged our order on the kitchen island.
Hannah grabbed the plastic clamshell containing her quesadilla and opened it. If I hadn’t been watching, I wouldn’t have noticed the way her nose wrinkled.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
Carefully, she lifted the edge of the tortilla to peek at the cheesy mess inside. “It’s got onions and peppers on it.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s fine.” Closing the container, she reached for the bag of chips and the side of guacamole. Her words and actions told two different stories.
“Are you going to eat that?” I motioned to the quesadilla.
“No,” she said around a mouthful of chips.
Reaching for the abandoned entrée, I peeled it open. Grabbing a knife, I went to work prying the onions and peppers from the gooey cheese. Confident I’d gotten it all, I slid it back over to her. “Fixed it.”
Hannah shook her head. “The taste gets in there when they cook it. The cheese will be all peppery.”
“You’re really not going to eat it?”
“Nope.”
Frustrated, I sighed. I didn’t have personal experience with relationships, but I’d seen enough of the dynamic with my parents, and my sister and her husband, to know it wouldn’t fly if I ate my meal when she wasn’t eating hers.
Grabbing my phone off the counter, I dialed the restaurant directly.
Hannah looked at me, confused. “What are you doing?”
I held up a finger, silencing her as someone on the other end picked up. “Hello, First Street Fiesta Palace. How can I help you?”
“Yeah. Hi. I need to order a chicken quesadilla.”
“Sure thing. Pickup or delivery?”
“Pickup.” I could be there and back in less than ten minutes. “But I need it to be made without peppers and onions.”
“No peppers or onions? Just chicken and cheese?”
I winked at Hannah before replying, “Yes, just chicken and cheese. I need a basic bitch quesadilla.”
