Page 27 of Hard Rock Desires
She still looked dejected as we cleaned up all our bowls, utensils and other cooking equipment. I hated seeing that look on her face. I wanted to see her pursing her lips at me. I wanted to see that dreamy look of fond nostalgia she’d had in that alley.
“I have an idea,” I told her. “Something that I think will boost your spirits.” I pulled out my phone, searched quickly, then showed her a list of bakeries. “These are all sorted by rating.”
“They’re all one-stars,” she pointed out.
“Exactly,” I nodded. “Let’s go bakery-hopping and try out the worst places in town.”
She looked at me in disbelief. Then she snorted out a laugh.
“You think eating terrible pastries will make me feel better?” she asked.
“Sure will,” I replied. “Once you see how terrible even the professionals can be, you’ll feel tons better about yourself.”
“Is that so?” She looked bemused.
“It is,” I said. “You in?”
She looked hesitant.
“Come on,” I cajoled. “I’m buying.”
She shook her head ruefully, but smiled, and I knew I’d got her.
“Fine,” she said, and I felt unreasonably pleased with myself. “I’m in.”
Nine
Grace
If someone had told me last week I was going to find myself sitting in a car that probably cost as much as my four-year tuition, being force-fed a stale chocolate eclair by a mega-famous rock star, I would have called that person crazy.
As it was, I had to stop myself from pinching the skin on my arm to wake myself up from this surreal dream.
“I don’t want it,” I told Zain, turning my head away.
He continued inching the eclair closer to my mouth.
“Aren’t you a little bit curious?” he asked. “That one reviewer said it’s the worst pastry they’d ever had and that they’d rather eat a handful of grass than try another one.”
“Exactly what part of that statement makes you think it would compel me to eat it?” I replied.
“It’ll make you feel better,” he said.
“I very much doubt that,” I said. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it’ll turn my stomach upside down.”
“Emotionally, I mean,” he said. “You can’t feel bad about messing up a lemon tart when these guys are charging ten bucks a pop for a single shitty eclair.”
“I still can’t believe you paid for that with aliteralgold credit card.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Flashing your money around doesn’t impress me, you know.”
Zain’s lips dipped into a frown. “It wasn’t meant to.” He eased back into the driver’s seat, no longer crowding me. “I thought this might cheer you up, that’s all.”
A small part of me felt bad. Zain was trying to be nice. I had no ideawhyhe was trying to be nice, mind you. But if he thought eating a rock-hard pastry would cheer me up, I supposed it was the least I could do. After all, he had driven me halfway across the city just to go to the worst reviewed bakery for miles.
“All right, give it to me.” I put my hand out for the eclair.
He didn’t hand it over. Instead, he lifted it back up to my mouth.
“I’m not going to let you feed me like some cheesy rom-com,” I said.
