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“Depends what pasta.”
“Like the flat one? Or the twirly one?”
“No, what you’re putting in the pasta, doofus.” I fought a smile. “Chicken? Bacon? Tuna? Veggies?”
Dylan sighed. “What do you want?”
“I am partial to tuna with corn and broccoli in a pasta bake. But with brown pasta.”
“Brown pasta?”
“Yes, it has less carbs. If I have a low carb dinner, I can have a higher carb breakfast.”
“That’s not how low carb works, Pinky.”
“I don’t care how it works. It works for me.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was becoming a habit. “All right, fine. Tuna pasta bake with broccoli and corn and brown pasta it is.” He looked to Leonard. “It was lovely to meet you. Apparently, I have to go and buy some wholewheat pasta for Her Highness over here.”
I narrowed my eyes to glare at him.
Leonard laughed. “And you, Dylan.”
Dylan held up a hand and disappeared back through the crowd, pausing once on his way to the door to speak to Stacy.
I scoffed without realizing it.
Leonard turned to me and rested his hand on my shoulder. “You know that young man likes you, don’t you?”
“I’d hope so. We do live together.”
He laughed quietly, his shoulders trembling with each chuckle. “No, Saylor. He has feelings for you.”
“Again, are you sick? He does not.”
“He does.” Leonard’s lips formed a smile that was very grandfatherly—the kind that said he knew something I didn’t, and he knew I wouldn’t listen until I was ready, but he was telling my stubborn ass anyway. “I believe the young man has feelings for you, roommates or not.”
I believed this very nice gentleman was crazy.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get changed for lunch. I’m hoping your grandmother will finally join me today.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Have a wonderful day.”
With that, he left.
And with that, I knew he was insane.
Poor guy.
CHAPTER TWELVE – DYLAN
RULE TWELVE: KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. DOESN’T MATTER WHAT IT IS, JUST DON’T SHARE IT ON THE FIRST DATE.
COLTON: I don’t know why you don’t just ask her out.
A huge sigh escaped me, and I picked up my phone to reply.
ME: Same reason you don’t ask Tori out.
COLTON: I don’t ask Tori out because she’s a bitch.
ME: Keep telling yourself that.
COLTON: Saylor’s great. You get along. You know you like her. Just ask her.
ME: I’m not taking advice from a guy who can’t admit he’s in love with someone just because she winds him the fuck up.
COLTON: You should. Hypocrites give the best advice.
ME: Are you admitting you’re in love with Tori?
COLTON: Did you see me admit it? Fuck off.
ME: Still not taking your advice.
ME: I live with Saylor. It’s weird. It’s different. And the new nurse at the senior home gave me her number today.
COLTON: She’s hot. You gonna go out with her?
ME: I don’t know. Can’t hurt to go for dinner.
COLTON: Does Saylor know?
ME: Fuck off.
I put my phone down and turned my interest back to the TV. Saylor was in her room reading after declaring she could no longer listen to ESPN—or EPNS as she called it, probably deliberately—and left.
I glanced back at the phone. I did have Stacy’s number in it. I could text her and ask her out. It would be easy. God knew I needed a date. It’d been a long time, and it wouldn’t hurt to go with her.
I was attracted to her. She was cute. I liked her.
Dinner wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Fuck it. I was going to do it. I wasn’t going to listen to Colton’s bullshit about how I had feelings for Saylor.
I knew I had feelings for Saylor.
Very inappropriate, insane feelings for Saylor that needed to fuck off before I lost my mind.
I snatched my phone up and opened the messages app.
ME: Hey. It was great to chat today. Do you want to go for dinner one night this week?
There.
Done.
There was no backing out now.
Having feelings for my roommate was inappropriate. If I pursued something and it went wrong, it made our living situation untenable. I wasn’t willing to do that, given that I’d just committed my future to White Peak and to Seb’s new business.
That’s what I was telling myself, anyway.
It was going to work. I was sure of it. Having any kind of feelings for Saylor was dangerous, and I wasn’t going to play that game.
I blew out a long breath and checked my phone. I had a new message from Stacy.
STACY: That sounds great. I get off early tomorrow. How about then?
All right. I was doing this.
ME: Sure. Indian or Italian?
STACY: Surprise me.
I hated it when women said that.
Surprises were not good. Just fucking tell me what you wanted to eat.
No wonder I had feelings for Saylor. She had no issues doing that.
I made two quick calls to the restaurants in town and managed to snag a reservation for the Italian place, and I texted Stacy to tell her that. She was fine with it, so I threw my phone to the side and sank back into the sofa cushions.
