Nothing but the best for Greg, and that's exactly what he got. On my dime of course. He wouldn't have it any other way. I would, but that's another rant for another time. If this it what it took to get him to listen to me about rehab it was money well spent.
We went up and down every single aisle in the store as Greg directed to me what he wanted and how much of it should be tossed into the cart. Everything was fair game, and with Greg calling all the shots it seemed like one of everything ended up being added to the grocery list. I even got in on the act and threw a few last minute things for myself. After nearly ninety minutes of listening to "Where are the damn Cheerios?", "I want extra sharp cheese, dammit!" and "Those better be crinkle cut fries or I'm taking it out of your hide.", the cart was overflowing and we were ready to go.
Three guesses as to who got to carry nearly all the grocery bags into the apartment and the first two don't count.
He made himself a milkshake, topped off with whipped cream and a pile of maraschino cherries, while I sprinkled some pepper into the hamburger patties. There was chocolate ice cream for his shake, mint chocolate chip for mine.
"Don't I get one of those?" I asked after he sat down and began to slurp at his drink.
"You've got work to do first," he answered. His shake dribbled all over his mouth. The whipped cream mustache made him look twelve years old. "I suggest you hop to it. I don't like to be kept waiting."
I gave him a thin smirk. "Save me some cherries," I said. "I bought the damn things, I should get at least one."
"Then I'll leave you at least one," my friend said, and munched on another cherry just to piss me off.
I turned back to the stove, making sure the hamburgers, bacon and fries were all sizzling and frying just right, cooking everything all the way through. The heat of the stove and the scent of the cooking food pooled all around us; it was wonderful and maddening. I tried not to look too much like I couldn't wait for the burgers to be done while Greg watched every move I made, taking in everything so he could find some little thing to tease me about later. Well, a big juicy bacon burger would make it all worth it. Tomorrow I would make sure that at least one of our meals doesn't contain enough cholesterol to choke a horse. The bacon was done; I set it aside and flipped the burgers and checked the fries. Everything was coming along just fine. I got out my ice cream and whipped up a giant shake for myself. I piled the whipped cream as high as the Washington Monument and plopped a fat cherry on top.
He raised his glass to toast my edible work of art. "Impressive," Greg said with sincere appreciation.
"Thanks." I took a big gulp and set the glass down on the counter, well out of his reach. He'd steal the cherry in a heartbeat, if not sooner, and reduce the Monument to a pile of rubble.
"Extra cheese and four pieces of bacon," he instructed as he watched me slice open the shiny new package of extra sharp cheddar.
I was tempted to put the whole damn block of cheese on his meal. That would not be a good idea, especially since I needed a calm and generally relaxed Greg House to talk to later. He wanted a nice meal and he was going to have it. I needed it too, probably a hell of a lot more than he did. The mood needed to stay light until the meal was finished; it was not the time for petty revenge.
I turned and narrowed my eyes. "Anything else? Would you like a salad and breadsticks? Or how about the moon?"
"Breadsticks sound pretty good right now."
"Too bad. We don't have any."
"Darn," he said with a wildly exaggerated frown. "And it's a new moon tonight so I guess I can't have that either."
I smiled wickedly. "I bought plenty of lettuce. Would you like a salad?"
"No, and if you burn my burger I'm going to disembowel you with a butter knife."
"Sounds appetizing," I muttered under my breath and turned back to the frying pans.
Almost ready. I let the cheese melt over the patties as Greg instructed me how to fix the bun, and what should go where: "Lettuce goes on top! Everyone knows that! Were you raised by wolves?" By the time I set the plates on the table I felt like I had been the lead surgeon in a fifteen hour operation. Come to think of it, surgery would be less grueling than cooking for Greg every night. Pickiness about cheese and bacon was generally frowned upon in the operating rooms.
"Yummy," he muttered just loud enough for me to catch. It was a compliment, and I took it as such. He carefully studied the burger while nibbling on a french fry, trying to figure out how to eat it without making a gigantic mess. Blobs of cheese oozed down onto his plate, threatening to drown a few of his fries.
I picked up my burger, dripping with A1 Sauce. "Eat up," I said, "or you're going to bed without any dessert."
"No dessert?" he echoed, then locked a crafty gaze with mine. "Sounds more like a punishment for you, Jimmy." With that he licked his lips, making sure I was watching every second of it. He was honestly enjoying himself. I liked that. I liked seeing him happy. I hoped I could see that more often once this whole drug charge mess was taken care of.
Still, he was toying with me. I knew he would and was more than prepared for it. He was going to delay our little talk for as long as humanly possible. But he couldn't delay it forever. He wasn't going to get around it. Not tonight. I was going to make damn sure of that.