Page 36 of Shattered Dreams

And I kind of love that about him.

“Buying groceries,” I say with a shrug as the receipt prints.

“I thought I was buying groceries,” he says, clearly agitated that I managed to get one over on him.

Paul one; Dre zero.

I nod to the boxes of sandwiches in his arms. “You are.”

I move to the side, motioning for him to scan them.

“Really, Paul?” he bites, but I don’t miss the faint grin turning up at the corner of his mouth.

He scans the boxes quickly as I pack up everything I paid for into the cart.

“Don’t worry about what I do with my money, Andre,” I tease him, throwing his words back at him.

“Fuck you,” he says as he swipes his card, then tosses the boxes into the cart before taking the receipt.

I can’t help but laugh as I push the cart out, feeling victorious.

When we get back to his place, it’s nearing one-thirty in the afternoon. We’re both starving, because despite how delicious those muffins were, they were not enough to keep us full.

“You hungry?” I ask as Dre sets a plethora of bags on the counter.

“Yeah, what do you want?” he asks.

He opens cabinets, the fridge doors, the freezer.

I don’t think twice as I say, “Sit down.”

Dre rolls his eyes, and I can’t help the way my stomach ties into a knot from the sight. My stupid cock reminds me that it’s imperative I take care of my needs, but I can’t be bothered with that right now. I’ll deal with it later.

After all, we’ve got all night since Dre’s parents offered to keep the kids overnight because they were having so much fun. Which makes me feel a little guilty.

My parents don’t visit often, and while Amelia’s parents are great, it’s just not the same. I wish Maddox could have sleepovers with his grandparents. I wish he could have a sibling to play with. I wish I could give him more, but with everything going on, I can’t, and honestly I don’t know if things will ever change in that regard. Not unless my parents move back here or I miraculously have another kid—which probably won’t happen, and I’ve accepted that.

“Paul…” Dre protests, but I shake my head, dispelling the thoughts of guilt and remorse. I don’t want to think about how I’ve failed Maddox; not when it’s just me and Dre. I want to simply enjoy this time with my best friend. I want to do something for him for a change.

“Sit down,” I say again, this time firmer than before. Something shifts in Andre’s eyes; it almost looks like they darken a bit, though that could be from the shift in weather outside. It’s hot as hell, humid, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up with a thunderstorm soon enough.

Andre sighs in defeat, but takes a seat at the island as I pull out the ingredients I need to make quite possibly one of my best meals—high protein buffalo chicken pasta.

“First you swindle me out of paying for all this, and now you’re bossing me around? In my house?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk.

“Damn right,” I say as I pull out the package of fresh chicken. I put away the last few things, then grab my equipment. “And don’t even think of trying to help.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Andre says, and I can’t help but chuckle at the way he pouts, like I’ve just told him Santa Claus isn’t real.

“No, you are ridiculous,” I say as I fill the stockpot with water and set it to boil on the stove. I open the box of chickpea pasta I grabbed from the store and measure out two cups—okay maybe I don’t measure it with a cup but I’m pretty good at eyeballing measurements. Besides, what’s the problem with a little extra pasta as long as it’s healthy?

“Me?” he asks, as if I’ve personally offended him. I have to hide my grin, because I swear, some things never change.

Andre is one of those people that can’t help themselves when it comes to being in charge of things. It’s just who he is, and he’s been that way for as long as I have known him. Accepting help is hard for him, and he’s not exactly going to just let me do shit for him. I can’t give him the option. I have to be steadfast and direct, because Dre won’t listen any other way.

Which is why I give him a stern look, when I say, “Yes, you.”

I open the package of chicken and set to chopping it. “I’m a grown man, Andre, I don’t need you to do everything for me. I can do things myself, and I should be doing things myself.”