Page 40 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
I don’t know that I’ve actually broken contact when I whisper, “Thank you.”
He sucks in a breath, our faces so close that the movement of air tickles my lips. The sensation compels me to lean in for firmercontact, my lips parting. His fingertips ghost over my jawline, encouraging my head to angle, the tip of his tongue—
DING!
We flinch apart as the doors grind open, the distance between us still negligible. But instead of the stillness that’s followed our arrival at the last umpteen floors, the car jostles with the boarding of our first passenger. Ian’s attention shifts.
He leans back farther.“Alistair?”
I wheel to face the doors. Alistair observes us as though he’s strolled into Firehouse to us chatting at the desk, not huddled together in an enclosed space, drowning in one another’s pheromones and our faces within tongue’s distance of one another.
“Oh, hey.” He raises Mushu, whose vines he’s now angled like a sash across his bare torso. “Ellie, can I hang on to this guy? Like, keep him in my room while you’re living with us?”
I settle into a seated position, as though the taste of cinnamon isn’t swirling in my mouth. “Sure?” My head clears enough to process what he’s asking. “I’ll let you know when to water him.” I can barely hear myself over the rush of blood in my ears. “That’s Mushu, by the way. He’s a dragon tail.”
Alistair’s brows raise, and he cocks his head, as though reevaluating his worldview in light of this new information.“Sick.”Then he frowns. “Dude, your old place sucks. The elevator is slow as shit.”
15
“HOLA, FRIENDS! I AM DIEGOand with me is my roommate, Ellie! She’s very grown-up and helpful and teaching us how to live like we are not animals. And we’re teaching her how to be strong! Ellie, flex with me!”
Diego raises his arms in a classic muscle-man pose. I join him in front of the tablet, the screen showing us in the middle of the kitchen, Built Box’s logo bordering us on one side and the livestream’s chat in the other. As I flex, I catch some of the viewers’ commentary. Grapple303 thinks I need to work on my lats.Rude.
“As we work together, she will get bigger and stronger! And I will get better at cooking… and maybe a little bigger, too?” Diego wraps his arms around himself in a hug, shimmying his hips. “More muscle means more Diego to love!”
I smile. He is charm incarnate.
The kits arrived late yesterday afternoon, which we would have known to anticipate had Diego checked his email since Tuesday. Built Box had been more than happy for me to join, despite my “negligible online presence”—their words—and wanted toget the ball rolling. They included the filming releases we signed, scanned, and sent back, and a more detailed contract for Diego, which he spent some time with while I was unpacking. The base offer was bumped up to complimentary meal kits for the whole household, but in bigger news, he’ll be seeing a percentage of sales for redeemed coupon codes exclusive to his viewers.
As Diego continues his introductory bit, I do a final inventory of the ingredients. Today’s kit is a take on traditional Middle Eastern kofta, combining beef with onion, herbs, and a spice mix, rolled into balls that can be grilled or, because I am unwilling to introduce fire, baked. The process is similar to the meatballs we made last week, the herb chopping and onion grating well within Diego’s wheelhouse, leaving him free to engage with his audience.
The guy is a natural. He maintains a steady stream of chatter as we take on each element of the recipe, answering questions in the chat and injecting moments of humor, and I only occasionally have to redirect his attention to the food prep. When he warns viewers not to overhandle the meat when they roll their balls, the aside inspires a burst of raunchy commentary from the chat. Big “balls” humor crowd.
Prepped and rolled, the balls go in the oven, and as we prepare the accompanying side salad and dressing, he continues to engage. There are many dance breaks.
Then, the moment of truth. When the balls have cooled, we each take a bite. They’re decent but underseasoned; the salt in the spice mix was not enough to carry the flavor. I chew and wait for Diego, who’s front and center, to respond with his standard sunshine.
But his brows come down as he swallows. “I need more flavor. It’s good, but tastes goodforyou, you know? And sometimes that’swhat you want.” He smiles, dreamily. “I feel that way when I have a delicious soup, and it makes me feel cozy, but without being too heavy. But this is the kind of healthy tasting that feels like something is missing. Oh!” He turns and points to me. “Ellie, the bottle you used the other day, to give that chicken soup more… what was it?Umami!”
“Fish sauce?” I say, worried about what his sponsors might say about him adding ingredients to something they claim to be all-inclusive.
“It could be helpful. Come, friends!” He plucks the tablet from the stand. “Let’s go on a field trip to the refrigerator.” He crosses to the fridge, pulling it open, but careful not to expose the camera to the inside. He wags his finger at the lens. “No, no, no! No other sponsors or name brands! This is all about Built Box.” He winks. “And some experimentation.” He plucks the fish sauce from the shelf in the door. “This will boost the flavor, and… ah! I think you’d also want something with spice to step it up. Everyone has a little spice on hand, yes?” He dangles a bottle of sriracha in front of the tablet. “Let’s give it a go!”
He shakes a few drops of fish sauce onto the balls we’ve sampled, following with a dab of hot sauce. He raises his to the tablet. “Round two!”
I toss back the rest of mine, and—oh, wow! “Diego, this is perfect!”
He nods, smiling as he chews. “So much better! And, friends, you saw that it only took a tiny bit of each? A little bit goes a long way with flavor!”
“Is that dinner?” asks Alistair, appearing in the frame. He’s clad solely in a tiny pair of shorts and his house slippers. I halfexpect him to be wearing Mushu again; he’s been taking the plant for regular “tours” around the common areas.
I wheel on him. “Dude, you can’t be coming in here in yourman panties! This islive!”
“Oh, really?” Alistair moves between us, peering at the tablet, but we’re hardly visible amid the sudden barrage of messages from viewers and floating red hearts. “Huh.Cool.” He waves, then points to the waistband of his microscopic undies. “These aren’tman panties, or whatever. They’re Italian. I’m in a campaign for them coming up. Should—” He turns to me. “Should I, like, name drop them or something?”
“Let’s keep this focused on one merchant,” I say, though in the chat BUTTStough95 demands,drop the deets bro!
“Rad.” He peers at the balls on the cooling rack. “These any good?”
