Giving her a deadpan look, she bends down and places the other bags on the table. “And these are the ingredients to make my grandma’s meatballs.”
“Wait, Callie…” Nina blinks, staring down at her apron. “Did you get this custom made?”
“Do you like it?” She smirks.
Looking down at her apron, Nina clears her throat as she tells us what’s written there. “I can’t cook, but replace the secondowith acand I know what I’m doing—what the fuck?”
She didn’t…leaning across the table, I burst out laughing as I take in the apron.
“What does both of yours say?” Nina questions Payton and me.
Looking down, I read the words. “Popcorn mad, but kinky corn is my favorite…what does that even mean?” I ask, my eyebrows furrowing as I try and figure it out.
“Corn…porn.” Callie winks.
God.Help me. Since telling her how traumatized I was with the books she’d given me—something I wish I didn’t even mention to her—she’s been relentlessly sending me porn videos that are worse than the books. And not once have I opened any of the links. I’ve not even been tempted.
I’m not going to judge someone who has different sexual desires to me, but no way in hell would getting tied up like a rotisserie chicken turn me on.
“Mine says…” eyes widening, Payton looks between the apron and Callie. “You didn’t.”
Grinning, Callie places a hand on her hip. “Totally did.”
“What does it say?” I ask, peering over.
But once I see the mountain of words written down the front of the apron, my eyebrows scrunch together.
“I know you would’ve refused to wear anything sexual related, so I chose the next best thing.” Callie grins.
“I’m really confused…” Nina voices what I’m thinking.
With her cheeks flushed, Payton brings her hands to her face and cowers away. “It’s my valedictorian speech that I was certain I threw away after graduation.”
“Oh, come on…you seriously think your mom didn’t pick it straight out of the trash after you threw it in there?” Callie raises a brow.
Grabbing the apron from her hand, I lay it flat on the table and read what it says.
“Who’s Mr. Tiddles?” I ask, furrowing my brows.
“Our neighbors cat.” Callie snorts.
“You…” not being able to hold my laughter in, I glance to Payton. “You thanked Mr. Tiddles—who’s a cat!For being the most supportive.”
Her cheeks are redder than a tomato as she pulls her hands away from her face. “He was a cute cat,” she grumbles. “And he helped me through a lot during senior year.”
“But he’s a cat.” Nina laughs.
“Ugh, this is so embarrassing!” Snatching the apron off the table, she scrunches it up in her lap. “Can we just cook, or whatever.”
Laughing, Callie leans forward and empties the remaining bags onto the table. I look around at all the ingredients and instantly groan. I fucking burn toast, who does that? So, how is she expecting the three of us—who are all collectively shit in the kitchen—to make her grandma’s famous meatball recipe?
“Where’s the pasta?” Nina asks, pushing around the groceries.
“We’re making it.” Callie says.
“Like from scratch?” Her eyes widen.
“Don’t look so horrified,” leaning across the table, she picks up the flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt, pushing it in a pile in front of Nina. “It’s literally four ingredients, you can’t fuck it up.”
