At home, I’m immediatelybombarded with the strong scents of Derek’s famous Salmon Alfredo—otherwise known as the shit we eat every Monday. I groan, kicking off my shoes at the front door remembering the way Alec scolded all of us for walking around the house with shoes on.
The sounds of yelling and hushed curse words come from the living room as I beeline it to the kitchen. Inside, Derek hovers over the stove with his all-pink‘Mother Knows Best’apron wrapped snugly around his waist.
The apron had been a gag gift for Derek’s birthday last year since he’s our only culinary major on the team but the punk liked it so much he began to wear it every time he cooked at the house.
“When are you going to stop making pasta? Can we have pizza for once, or something?” I groan as he whirls around, pointing a spoon covered in sauce at me.
“Wheneveryouhockey heads decide you no longer want to be on the team. I’m trying to keep all our diets healthy.” He tuts before muttering a slew of swear words in Spanish.
I chuckle as he says something withbitchin it as I take a seat at the dining room table adjacent to the kitchen.
“How am I a son of a bitch when you’re the one that won’t broaden your variety of pasta dishes?”
“Why are you in my kitchen?” He rolls his eyes, mixing the chunks of salmon with the pasta sauce.
Ignoring him, I whip out my phone and snap a picture of him before opening my messages with Denver.
Me
Hello cousin.
Seattle
Ew.
Why are you texting me? I thought I blocked you.
Me
Ouch. Not going to take all ur time.
What was Cleo’s youtube again?
Seattle
Why? You crushing on her or something?
Me
No. Of course not.
I need it for…research purposes.
Seattle
Right…research…
She’s IcingIt on youtube… do all your research but leave me out of it. I think her and I are going to be good friendssoon.
Me
Friends my ass…
I highly doubt an angel like her would be friends with a gremlin like you.
Seattle
You have five seconds to stop texting me fuckface.
