Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Of course.”
“You’re not getting this one.” I lifted the new Big Mac up and licked my lips.
“You’re an ogre. I bet when we go back to my dorm room, you’ll raid Vivian’s mini fridge.”
“Hells, yes. I love that bean dip she has.”
“You better leave her hummus alone before she kills you.”
“No way. Viv loves the hell out of me.”
Back in Chase’s dining area, we continued to watch Jazz sample the food in front of her.
“What’s this?” I gestured to my plate.
“It’s casu marzu,” Chase said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Cheese.” Chase smirked. The way he curved that mouth up told me that it was more than that. I returned my attention to Jazz.
“Oh, my god. This is just”—Jazz stuffed her mouth-“insane! I’ve always wanted to try this.”
“I told them that you were an adventurous, eater and they had casu marzu delivered from Sardinia this morning.” Chase knitted his fingers together and watched my sister eat with an odd fascination. That shit always made me uneasy. What type of man looked at his woman in a way that suggested he would either devour or trap her somewhere far away?
Jazz needs to be more careful or I’m going to have to handle this motherfucker.
I checked out my plate. If I hadn’t known Jazz, I would’ve guessed it was some sort of tan cheese smeared onto a thin slice of wheat bread. A pungent odor rose from it. Not necessarily an unappetizing scent, but not exactly appealing.
No way. Jazz doesn’t squeal over cheese. This is something nasty.
“What is this really?” I turned to Chase.
“Just try it,” Jazz mumbled between bites.
“What is it, man?” I asked Chase again.
“Don’t tell him.” Jazz waved her hands. “Just take a freaking bite, Troy. You’re such a scaredy cat.”
Fucking Jazz.
Chase chuckled to himself and took a sip of his red wine. I noticed he’d still not tried his own portion.
“We only live once.” Jazz finished her cheese smeared bread and reached for the other. “Go ahead. If you can take a bite, I’ll stop making you eat things without telling you what they are.”
Yeah, right.
I raised my slice up to eye level. From my plate it seemed like bread with tan stuff smeared on it. At eye level, tiny beige worms, or maybe maggots, writhed and squirmed on top of the bread. A closer look showed me that they were more translucent than beige and barely half an inch long.
“I should beat your behind, Jazz.” I cringed and sniffed it. There went that pungent odor which I couldn’t decide was disgusting or good. My fingers itched to fling the bread at Jazz. We used to do that when we were kids, throw food at each other when Mom wasn’t looking. Jazz ’was lucky that we were in someone else’s house and Viv was around.
“Try it.” Those were Viv’s words. They hummed through me. “Just try it for once and stop being so scared.”
I gritted my teeth. That message couldn’t have been all about the cheese, but I had no intentions of discussing our dysfunctional relationship for brunch. “I try things.”
“No.” Viv picked up her bread and bit it. Her eyes popped open for a few seconds and then she caught herself and relaxed her expression a little. I could tell she hadn’t realized that living things were in the cheese. She chewed for a few seconds and gave me a half nod. “Okay. Jazz, you’re pushing it here with the squirmy things, but it’s not bad. Try it, Troy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why?”
“Because you’re scared and you need to get over it. Sometimes all you see is the ugly in something that could be so beautiful.”
Jazz checked Viv’s face then mine. “Umm. . .is this still about the casu marzu?”
“Yes, and it’s about a lot of other things.” Viv bit into her bread.
“Alrighty.” Jazz turned back to me. “Go ahead, Troy. You can do it. And while we’re putting people out there, Chase, don’t think I didn’t notice that you haven’t eaten it.”
He grumbled and took the tiniest nibble at the corner of the bread.
Now Chase is with them. Fine.
I bit, chewed, and as the things writhed on my tongue, cringed for the second time that morning. It stung the tip of my tongue a bit and those worms were gross. But, it tasted good. I hate you, Jazz. And sure it reminded me of gorgonzola, just maybe spicier. This stuff just coated my mouth in a sort of savory goodness that I’d never experienced before.
Sure.
But in the end. . .
“I can’t get over the damn worms, man.” I tossed the rest of my bread back on the plate. “I would rather just eat gorgonzola without the worms.”
“This is stronger and much tastier than gorgonzola,” Jazz huffed. A stranger would’ve thought that I insulted our mom or something personal within herself.