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I pull my credit card out of my pocket. “Here. Let me get this,” I say, running for the door.
He raises his hands. “No, this is on me. Everything’s on me. You are doing me a huge favor.”
I stand in front of him, hands on hips. “All right. Whatever. But I want you to know, you’re not my sugar daddy. I don’t need your money. Remember, I’m not one of your hoochie mamas.”
He rolls his eyes. “Would you please stop saying that? Yes, there’ve been women before you, hard as that is to believe. But I really don’t think they all deserve to be called hoochie mamas.”
I shrug, watching him enter the elevator. “Fine. Whatever. Just as long as you remember I’m not one of your hoochie mamas.”
His face pinches and he shakes his head at me while the elevator doors close to take him down to the lobby.
I don’t know why I enjoy irritating him so much. I should stop or at least cool it a little. But I can’t seem to help myself.
I pull some dishes and silverware out and set them up on the coffee table so I can continue to watch my Hallmark movie. I expect he’ll bail on the movie at some point. But maybe he won’t.
Got to give a guy credit for that.
In minutes, he returns with two huge bags of food.
“My God, what have you done? Are you inviting the whole team over?”
He sets everything down in front of me and removes the food cartons, one by one. “You didn’t tell me what to order, so I just picked a whole bunch of things. Hopefully you’ll find something you like.”
We fill our plates to overflowing and sit back, stuffing our faces. I turn the movie back on, and I have to say, Rake seems kind of into it.
“Excuse me for a sec,” I say, and put the movie on hold for a restroom break.
After I do my thing and am washing my hands, I look in the bathroom mirror. The eyeliner and mascara I put on earlier still look okay—not smudged or anything—so I swipe on some tinted lip balm even though I’m still eating.
When Rake was critiquing my fashion sense, I half expected him to comment on the fact that I’m wearing makeup, when I pretty much never do. But he either didn’t notice or was smart enough to not bring it up.
I was ready, however, to explain to him that I knew people would be looking at me today, and that the stadium light is probably harsh, so I didn’t want to look washed out.
Just as long as he knows I wasn’t trying to look nicer for him.
Really. I wasn’t. It’s true.
I stroll back to the living room, and find my show is gone. One of theLethal Weaponmovies has replaced it.
I hate theLethal Weaponmovies.
I take my seat on the sofa. “Um, Rake?”
“Yes, Petal?”
“What happened to my movie?” I ask.
He waves his hand around so I can see his fingers tightly wrapped around the remote. “Oh. It ended.”
I take a deep breath. Big guy wants to play.
“It was not over, Rake. I can’t believe you turned on one of these stupid Mel Gibson movies. He’s such a dork. In the history of bad, dumb movies,Lethal Weaponwins the prize.”
He just turns it up louder.
“C’mon, Rake. I was really enjoying my Hallmark movie.”
He ignores me and takes a forkful of his Indian food. “Wow, this stuff is good.”
