Page 50 of Stroked Long
“I have my standards,” I joke.
“Do you ever think about selling your art?”
I cringe. “Would anyone even want to buy my art, is the question. It’s not much. I play more with color than anything.”
“I think it’s something,” Bodi replies, still caressing my hand.
Seriously, my heart is about to explode in my chest.
“Thank you, but I don’t plan on having my own gala. I paint more for therapy.”
“Eva did the same thing growing up,” Bodi says almost absentmindedly.
“The reason for the foundation—art and sports—outlets that shaped who you both are today.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, not fully agreeing with me.
It’s obvious I struck another chord with him, one I don’t want to cross so I switch gears again. “If you could cheat on your little lettuce and kale diet, what would you eat?”
“I like lettuce and kale,” he says, brightening up again.
I look around the room, and then whisper, “You know it’s just us, you don’t have to lie, it’s okay if you hate eating shrubs every day.”
He laughs and I commit the sound to memory. “Honestly, I really do like kale and lettuce, but if I had to go outside the crisper in my fridge, I would say Double Stuf Oreos. Well, any kind of Oreos really but Double Stuf are my favorite.”
For some reason I thought he was going to say something manly like buffalo wings, or a five-pound burrito, but Mr. I-Don’t-Eat-Sweets has shocked the hell out of me with his little Oreo answer. Why do I find it so adorable? Why does the image of Bodi with a package of Oreos in front of him make me melt inside? I can picture it so vividly, him twisting the two cookies apart and eating the filling. It’s so cute it sends a pang straight to my heart.
“Oreos, huh? That’s kind of adorable, Bodi.”
“Adorable?” he lightly sneers. “How is that adorable? I said Double Stuf, that’s a manly cookie.”
Reaching up, I pat him on his stubbled cheek. “Oh Bodi, Double Stuf Oreos are not a manly cookie. Double Stuf Oreos were specifically engineered by Nabisco for raging pregnant woman and for those of us riding the red tide into Crampsville, but you’re cute for thinking otherwise.”
He ponders that for a second. “But they’re double stuffed.”
“With frosting. It’s not like they are double stuffed with a half-pound of bison meat.”
“So they’re not manly?” His lips quirk up as he asks.
“Not so much.”
“Damn.” He chuckles quietly. “Despite being labeled as a hormonal woman, I will stick with my answer. What about you? What’s your diet breaker?”
Frowning, I answer, “Bodi, come on, the only reason I work out is so I can have my daily intake of doughnuts, pie, or cookies. But if I have to pick one thing I hypothetically would eat to cheat on my so-called diet, I would have to say Funfetti cupcakes with Rainbow Chip frosting.”
“Good choice. I remember having those as a kid.”
“A kid? I call that my Friday night, but you have to use the Betty Crocker Rainbow Chip frosting, not the Pillsbury crap.”
“What’s the difference?” Bodi asks the same time lightning flashes through the room followed by a burst of thunder. I’m too upset by his question to be too startled. Still, he grips my hand tighter.
“What’s the difference? Oh my God, Bodi! That’s like asking what’s the difference between a regular Oreo and a vanilla one. There is a huge difference. Betty Crocker, that magnificent bitch, put the sprinkle chips inside the icing while Pillsbury, the lazy asshole, separates the sprinkles for you to put on yourself, giving you absolutely no wonderment if you’re going to be delighted with a little sprinkle chip or not.”
Cringing, he says, “I think I’ve only had the Pillsbury kind.”
“That’s obnoxious. Absolutely obnoxious. What kind of man has never had rainbow chip frosting on a Funfetti cupcake? You know what? I can’t stay here.” Joking, I start to get up but Bodi stops me with one pull of my hand, bringing me even closer to his heat.
“You can’t go; you might drown in the flooding waters. We all know you can’t swim your way out of a gutter.”
