Page 112 of Just for the Plot

“Favorite dessert.” I glance around the rooftop. “Think they’re serving up pussy tonight?”

“Bennett,” she shout whispers, her face turning bright red. “Oh my God.”

I chuckle and lean back in my chair, completely pleased with myself.

“The tartare was eh-eh,” Bower says. “And the deconstructed Caesar was like sucking on a fish, but this pasta, fucking hell, I might propose.”

“Too late, I already did and it accepted. Save the date for November eighteenth. It’s going to be the wedding of the century.” I finish my last bite and hold back my moan, because damn, that was good.

The chef made it in front of us, wheeling out a giant block of cheeseand dropping the spaghetti in the center, swirling it around, and then serving it on a plate for each of us.

“Think the chef will let me tongue the cheese wheel?” Bower asks.

“Ask. If he says yes, I get first dibs.”

“You don’t get first dibs. It was my idea.”

“Yeah, but that’s my goddamn wife, and I’ll be damned if she’s tongued by anyone else.”

Bower lets out a wallop of a laugh, drawing the attention of everyone at the table.

“Bower,” Adalade says with amusement. “Please, tell us what has you laughing so hard?”

Yeah, Bower, go ahead and tell her…

Bower dabs her napkin at her lips.

Pauses.

Glances at me with a devilish smirk and then says, “Bennett was just telling me how much he wants to tongue the cheese wheel.”

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

I didn’t think she was going to tell the truth.

The table goes silent and I know we’re both drunk at this point, but for fuck’s sake, have some goddamn decorum.

I stiffly turn toward the table, ready to apologize for how crass that was, until Adalade holds up her wine and says, “Get in line, buster, the tonguing will be done by me first.”

Bower clamps her hand over her mouth as the entire table erupts in laughter.

“If anyone is tonguing the cheese,” Anita says, “it would be me. I paid for it, therefore I am the rightful owner.”

“Some might consider that prostitution, Anita,” an older gentleman says.

“Fine by me.” Anita tips her wineglass back, taking down the rest of her drink. When she’s done, she waves her finger around the table. “Another round for the group.”

“How long have you two been together?” Anita asks, motioning to me and Bower.

Dessert has been served—no, it wasn’t pussy, but rather a raspberry sorbet that melted on my tongue—and now we’re all drinking our lives away, enjoying the evening under the stars.

Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect when it came to dining with a bunch of people I didn’t know, but I don’t think I’ve had this much fun in a while.