Over dinner, Kent doesn’t thank Luke, no
surprise there. He sits at the head of the table, bent over his
plate, eyes beginning to droop—the alcohol is getting to him, the
sex, he’ll take a nap after this. “Good peppers,” he says, glancing
at me. I nod, yes, very good. “Onions are real sweet this year. I
told you it was a good idea to keep them in the back field, didn’t
I?”
I nod again and smile across the table at
Luke, who frowns at his plate until he sees me look his way, then
grins to beat the sun. Leave it to Kent to focus on his own efforts
in the garden and not even thank the cook. “It’s really good,” I
tell Luke. “How do you get the meat so tender?”
Suddenly Luke’s bare foot finds my crotch
beneath the table, and with a wink, he digs his toes into the
pillowy softness
