Page 19 of Open for Negotiation
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By the time we are able to sit down and eat, it’s pushing eleven o’clock, so the only thing open is a greasy diner in the middle of downtown Atlanta.
The typical women I’ve dated in the past would have turned their noses up at a place like this and opted to starve rather than set foot in here.
But not Scarlett.
The moment I apologized and told her we could try to find something different, she looked at me like I was crazy and asked me why I was apologizing. She said there’s nothing she could use more than a plate of deep-fried carbs and a greasy hamburger.
It was in that moment that I think I became even more intrigued by her. That’s growing by the second now, as I watch her devour a plate of cheese fries and suck down a chocolate milkshake.
“I feel like you’re judging me,” she says with a grin, shoving a ranch dressing dipped fry into her mouth.
“Quite the opposite, actually. I’m fascinated by you.” I reach across to steal a fry for myself. “I’ve never understood the whole ranch dressing obsession. Some people put it on everything. I’ve never even had it on anything but salad.”
“What? You mean to tell me you’ve never dipped chicken tenders in ranch?” She furrows her brows in confusion and then her eyes go wide in horror. “Or hot wings??”
“I’m a blue cheese man myself, in terms of hot wings.” I steal another fry from the plate between us. “And no, I’ve never dipped anything in ranch.”
“Well, that has to change right now.” She slides the ramekin of the white dressing toward me. “Dip and enjoy. Trust me.”
“You’re really passionate about this, aren’t you?”
“I will not be able to sleep at night knowing you don’t know the mastery of ranch as a dip on everything. It’s literally good on everything. Fries, chicken, pizza, carrots, tomatoes, mozzarella sticks. Everything. So dip and learn, sir.”
“Since you asked so nicely, and to be honest, I’m scared I won’t walk out of here in one piece unless I do.”
“I will neither confirm nor deny that.”
I sigh with a smile and dip a fry into the ranch and pop it into my mouth, immediately enjoying the savory, salty, and creamy flavor it adds to the French fry.
But messing with her is just way too much fun.
“Umm,” I say and curl my nose up in faux disgust. “That’s really gross.”
She narrows her gaze at me then calls my bullshit immediately. “You’re such a liar.” She tosses her balled-up straw wrapper at me and it bounces off my forehead.
I laugh the most genuine laugh I’ve had in a very long time.
“Okay, okay. No need to get violent.” I swipe the wrapper that landed on the booth seat next to me and toss it on to the table. “It’s pretty good.”
“I told you. It’s the best. The only thing that even comes close is honey mustard.”
“Now you’re taking it too far.”
She rolls her eyes and continues to eat. A silence we’ve yet to experience settles between us. We are the only ones in the diner besides the cooks in the back and the one, older waitress who is wiping down the counter.
It’s bizarrely intimate.
I want to know everything about her. All the mundane things.
“What’s your favorite color?” I ask out of the blue.
She wipes her mouth with a napkin and sits back, causing the vinyl underneath her to groan and squeak. “Black.”
“That’s not a color.”
“And you’re not the color police. Black is my favorite color. It’s dark, sexy, haunting. It makes everything look better. The ultimate neutral.” She wiggles her fingers to show off her manicured nails that are painted a dark, matte black. “What’s yours?”
