As if our lives were connected by a string, we reached climax together as we kissed. When the fireworks ended, I collapsed at her side.
The time to speak was upon me. So I did just that.
“I love you,” I said, meeting her content gaze. “I’m sure of it.”
“I’ve been loving you,” she said in a shaky voice, “for some time now.”
Smiling, I kissed her. My father always said ladies first.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Teddi
Herb lifted a forkful of the baked grouper to his mouth. “Best damned fish I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve eaten my share, believe me.”
Devin claimed that Herb was eighty years old, but one wouldn’t think it by looking at him. He would easily be guessed for sixty-five by anyone who met him.
He was physically fit for his age and wasn’t overweight or disproportionate in his build. If anything, he still looked as if he were in the military. His aging chest was broad, his waist was trim, and his arms still bore the shape of an athlete regardless of whether or not they were as muscular as they once were.
He always wore khaki-colored polyester pants, a button-down, short-sleeved shirt, and soft-soled walking shoes. In my opinion, he was adorable in looks and in attitude.
I smiled at his remark. “Thank you.”
“Can’t believe this shit was made in my kitchen.”
“It’s not where it’s made, old man,” Devin said. “It’s who’s making it.”
Herb lowered his fork and gave Devin a dirty look. “Would you just shut up for once? Just once? Let me eat in peace.”
“If you weren’t talking nonsense, we’d all be eating in silence,” Devin retorted. “But you keep saying dumb shit.”
“You don’t have to correct everything I say,” Herb complained.
Having eaten with them on the past four Sundays in a row, I realized their back-and-forth banter was nothing more than playful antics. At first, I didn’t know what to think. I now saw it as entertaining and often found myself goading them into an argument if I could.
“Just try to minimize the stupid remarks,” Devin said.
Being a part of Herb’s weekly routine was something I looked forward to more than I ever would have expected. The death of my parents came at a young age, leaving most of my adult life to be lived without parental figures, family dinners, gift sharing on Christmas, or a celebrated birthday.
Something as simple as Sunday dinner with my biker boyfriend and a retired army veteran was enough to satisfy me to no end.
“Can we make this a tradition?” I asked.
Herb looked up. “This fish? Fuck yes, we can.”
I laughed. “I mean the Sunday gatherings.”
“I declared it a tradition after the first time you showed up,” Herb replied. “I told dipshit if you weren’t here on Sundays, he was going to have to find someplace else to live. His tight ass doesn’t want to spend a dime if he doesn’t have to, so he agreed.”
“Is he frugal?” I asked.
Herb barked out a laugh. “Tell her how long you’ve owned your motorcycle.”
I looked at Devin. “How long?”
“Nineteen years.”
“Wow. Really?”
He nodded. “Really.”
“Ask him about the boots.”
His boots were worn, but they couldn’t be very old. I asked, nevertheless. “What about the boots?”
“Twelve years,” he replied. “Maybe thirteen. They were in a closet for eight of those, though.”
“Don’t make light of the fact that you’re a frugal prick,” Herb snarled. “Most men would have tossed those nasty bastards upon receiving an eight-year sentence. What’d he do? He put them in the back closet. He cleans ’em once a week and oils them nearly every night. Man hates to spend money. The thought of it makes him itch.”
“Really?” I asked.
Devin nodded. “I’ve always been this way.”
“Have you spent any of your bonus?”
He shook his head. “Not a dime.”
“Devin!” My eyes bulged. “You’ve got to treat yourself.”
“To what?” he asked. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
His reasoning was sweet and difficult to argue with. “I guess saving money is a good thing.”
It frustrated me that I’d saved as much as I had and then lost it to a bad investment with an equally bad boyfriend. Although Devin said at one time that he’d take care of it, I realized there was nothing he could do to get the money to reappear.
“You never said what was in the oven,” Herb said, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s starting to smell good.”
“Pie,” I said. “Peach. They had fresh ones at a market in Immokalee.”
“I was going to have another helping of that rice, but I’m not going to spoil my appetite,” Herb said. “Damned shame we don’t have any vanilla ice cream to go with it.”
“I brought ice cream,” I said. “It’s in the freezer.”
“You know,” he said, giving me a soft look, “when turd bucket told me you swallowed his junk, I told him you were a keeper. Now I’m sure of it.”
“Goddammit, Herb,” Devin growled. “That’s enough.”
I coughed on a mouthful of rice until it came out my nose. After making things right again, I looked at Herb with a face that was undoubtedly glowing red. “I can’t swallow his junk.”
“Spunk,” he said. “I get ’em mixed up.”
Embarrassed but entertained nonetheless, I laughed out loud. Devin said I needed to own who I was, so I did without hesitation.
“I swallow his spunk because I love him,” I said.
His brows pinched together. “He told me all about the declaration of love. From what I understand, you were swallowing that goop long before then.” He looked at Devin and then back at me. “Am I wrong?”
“Probably not,” I said.
“You swallowed it long before you loved him, right?” he asked.
With anyone else, it would have been awkward. With Herb, it was entertaining. I nodded in agreement to his claim. “I suppose.”
“Can I ask you a question about it?” he asked. “An honest one?”
“Sure.”
“Does that shit taste good, or does it taste like one would think?”
“I try not to taste it,” I said.
“How the hell does one do that? Swallow something without tasting it? Do you plug your nose?”
I laughed. “No. I let it go down my throat. Bypass the tongue, no taste.”
He nodded slowly as if he’d finally comprehended the process of splitting an atom. “That makes sense.” He looked at Devin. “I told you no one wants to taste that shit.”
I looked at each of them and shook my head. “I can’t believe you two talk about this kind of stuff.”
“I don’t think you and Kate are much different,” Devin said.
“We’re probably not,” I admitted.
“Things sure have changed since I was young,” Herb said. “Girls didn’t talk about spunk, junk, or anything in between. Hell, half of ’em wouldn’t put a man’s wiener in their mouth if their life depended on it. Now, Vinnie said his granddaughters were doing it in eighth grade.” He shook his head. “I think Facebooks and Twitter has everyone messed up in the head.”