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“All right, Dr. Phil. Calm down.”
“Watch yourself, or I’ll find you a place six foot under.”
“Your death threats are getting more and more frequent.”
“And they only happen after you say something stupid. Isn’t it funny how that works?”
“Living with you is a pleasure I didn’t know I needed to experience in my life, Ava.”
“Aw, that’s sweet. Living with you is the nightmare I normally wake up from.”
The oven timer beeped, and I jabbed the button to make it stop, then turned off the oven. I grabbed the oven mitts and removed the dish, setting it on top of the wooden cutting board.
Ethan got up and set two plates down on the counter, and I thanked him with a smile before I put two enchiladas on each plate.
“Only two?”
I peered over at him. “You want another?”
“Another two,” he replied. “There are four in there. Unless anyone else is coming for dinner…”
“I told you when I texted you that I always make too much food.” I put two more enchiladas on his plate. “Are you really going to eat four?”
“Are you really going to eat only two?”
“Look, taking another one into my bedroom to eat at eleven-thirty in bed is my prerogative, and I’d like you to keep your judging to yourself.” I poked my tongue out at him and took my plate over to the sofa. I grabbed hold of the remote and pointed it at the TV.
“Whoa, whoa, what are we watching?” He sat on the floor in front of the sofa and put his plate on the coffee table. “I’m not watching some girly shit.”
“I’m not watching sports,” I retorted. “I was going to turn on Netflix.”
“Yeah, but for what?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t turned it on yet.”
“Well, get on with it.”
I kicked him. “Tell me what to do again and see where that gets you.”
“Yes, Mom.”
I kicked him again. You know. Because I could.
I turned on Netflix and selected my profile. “I see you wasted no time in setting up your own profile.”
“Nope. I took one look at your girly shit and bounced right out of your profile,” Ethan said around a mouthful of food. “Damn, this is good.”
“Thank you. For both the compliment and not sullying my profile with your bullshit shows.” I scrolled to the section that had the shows I’d added to my list and rolled through them. I paused at Forensic Files where I was halfway through season six.
“What’s that?” Ethan asked.
“What it says on the can,” I replied. “It’s murder cases.”
“Not girly shit?”
“Does it look like it’s fucking Mean Girls?”
“No, but you do.”
“I wish I’d poisoned your guacamole,” I muttered, starting the show.
He peered over and grinned, his cheeks puffed out like hamster cheeks with the food he still had shoved in his mouth.
The man was attractive as fuck, but this was not a look he wanted on a dating site.
Or anywhere.
Hell, I didn’t want it in my living room.
“Don’t do that,” I said, stabbing my enchilada with a fork. “It’s not a good look for you.”
He sighed. “Always crushing my dreams.”
“You have no idea.”
***
I mixed the cherry yogurt into the berry granola in my bowl, splattering yogurt everywhere. Honestly, it was no wonder I was single—the counter looked as though I’d given a six-month-old baby a spoon and asked them to feed a goldfish.
A dead goldfish.
I grabbed a cloth to clean up my mess and yawned. It was Sunday, which meant there’d be football games back to back all day long. From the early afternoon, at least. But it also meant I’d be in work early since yesterday was my day off—not that it’d mattered to Reagan, but she paid more per hour than Lucky’s, so…
I digress.
I just wanted Ethan to wake up before I went to work. I wanted to see the results of my sugar-salt switch for myself. I’d video it, but I didn’t want to tip him off that I was up to something.
I was fully aware that I was potentially starting a war here.
The problem was, I didn’t care. Not a damn bit. I knew he’d retaliate one way or another and that it would be worse than just nudging my candles.
Switching salt for sugar was pretty savage, after all.
Especially since we had no sugar left, so he’d have to go out to get coffee.
Poor baby.
A door opened from down the hall, and I cradled my bowl against my chest as I ate. Ethan stepped into view, his hand covering his mouth as he yawned. His dark-blonde hair was a mess, sticking up at all angles, and he was wearing nothing but a faded pair of sweat shorts.
It was annoying. I didn’t need to perv on him while I ate my breakfast. Biceps and a six-pack weren’t appropriate morning viewing, thank you very much.
He reached his hand down his shorts and scratched his balls.
