Page 56 of If You Claim Me
“Doesn’t beef taste best with some grill marks and a little charcoal?” I bite my lips together for a moment. “I don’t want to waste food, but I don’t think this is my thing.”
“You have to try it before you say no to it,” he says.
“Can’t you just try it and tell me what you think?”
“That’s not how it works.”
I blow out a breath and feign exasperation. “Fine, but you have to go first.” This is better. No more falling into the sadness of the past. Both of us seem to have been through enough.
He pops a forkful into his mouth and chews while making intense eye contact.
“You would make an incredible poker player.”
“I used to take everyone’s money back at the Hockey Academy. Unsurprisingly, it did not help win me friends.” He gathers a small bite on his fork and lifts it to my mouth. “Your turn.”
“How does it taste?”
“Like you’d expect.”
“Not helpful.”
The side of his mouth quirks up. He continues to hold the fork in front of me. I stick my tongue out and poke at the bit near the end. Then retract to get a sense of the flavor.
“What are you doing?”
“Discerning the likelihood of activating my gag reflex.”
“I don’t know that it would be on menus if it was a horrible experience.”
“Agreed, but texture is a thing for me.”
His expression shifts. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Mildred. Apart from the one obvious thing.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to any of it if I found you unpalatable.”I wrap my fingers around his wrist and take the offered bite.
I chew quickly and swallow.
He arches a dark brow.
“It’s not as unappealing as I expected, but I’m right about the texture. I also think some of my friends might have questions, and Flip will definitely think you’re trying to feed him cat food.”
“That guy used to swallow sandwiches whole at the Hockey Academy.”
“I believe it. He still eats every meal like it’s his last most of the time. He used to eat brown sugar sandwiches with margarine when things were particularly tight.” Flip still has some serious food insecurities, as does his sister, Rix.
Connor frowns. “Why brown sugar and margarine?”
“They didn’t have anything else.”
He blinks at me as true understanding dawns.
“Kind of explains why he was so offended about the sandwich you defiled.”
His cheeks flush, and he bows his head. “It was such a stupid thing to do.”
“I’m sure at the time it felt like reasonable retaliation for your last clean shirt.” I push my plate toward him. “Here, you can eat mine, too.”
“I don’t want to eat either of them. My father knows I hate steak tartare, which is likely why it’s on the tasting menu.”
