Page 87 of Hard to Get

“Can’t do it tomorrow.” I scroll on my phone. “Thursday?”

She thinks. “Yes! I was supposed to be in New York, but we rescheduled.”

“Okay. We’re on. Dinner at my place.”

Our drinks arrive. She picks up her wine and takes a healthy sip.

“Any food allergies I should be aware of?”

“No. But I hate truffle oil.”

“Oh. Okay. Noted.” I’ve never in my life cooked with truffle oil. “Any other things you hate?”

“Not really. There are some things I like less… like raw celery. The strings make me gag. But if it’s in something and cooked, it’s fine.”

I try not to smile. “Got it.”

“What foods do you hate?”

“Olives.”

“What? Olives are delicious!”

“Olives are the Devil’s testicles.”

She snort-laughs, leaning against me.

“I have literally eaten real testicles,” I continue. “But I will not eat olives.”

“Real testicles! What? Oh my God.”

“Rocky mountain oysters,” I clarify. “Bull balls.”

She covers her mouth with one hand, eyes big. “I think we just found another food I won’t eat.”

“Why do testicles keep coming up in our conversation today?”

Her eyebrows shoot up.

“We were talking about Frank’s earlier. Then mine. Now the Devil’s testicles and bull balls.”

I can see she’s battling a smile. “I don’t think we talked enough about yours.”

“Sure, let’s talk about the time I took a puck to the nuts.”

Her mouth falls open wide enough to drive a Zamboni in. “Oh no!”

“I’m okay,” I reassure her. “I was a little worried, though. It got me right under the can and I dropped like a sack of spuds. I have never experienced pain like that. I couldn’t even breathe. Had to crawl off the ice.”

Her face wears a look of horror.

“Our trainer told me I could have a ruptured testicle and I needed to go back and get checked out. That was fun.” I grimace. “Luckily, no rupture. But I missed a few games.” I pause. “With a “lower body injury”.”

She covers her mouth again. “Holy shit.”

I shrug. “Some things are just nuts.”

“Aaaaah! That’s so bad.”