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“Are you?”
“Uh-huh.”
He stays silent as we walk.
Shit . . . he was supposed to tell me that he wanted to watch it with me.
“Are you coming to watch it with me?” I act casual.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you’re cooking me dinner.”
I want to jump and punch the air. “I suppose I can do that.”
“Okay, then.”
I bite my lip to hide my goofy grin. A television date on a Sunday night? This is definitely love.
“Can you cook?” He frowns.
I wince. Jeez, don’t ask me that. “Kind of.”
“Define ‘kind of’ . . .”
“Well.” I shrug. “I have a few dishes I’m good at.”
He smirks. “I’ll cook us dinner at my house.”
“You cook?”
“Very well.” He gives me a sexy wink.
Ugh . . . of course he does. He looks like that, he fucks like a demon, and now he cooks very well. Is there anything this man can’t do with ease?
Fall in love with me.
My face falls as I remember something.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Can we eat at my house?”
“Why?”
“I haven’t been home all weekend, and I feel bad for Barry.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You cook at my house. Yes, that’s a great idea.” I smile hopefully. “Text me the ingredients, and I’ll get them today,” I offer.
He exhales heavily. “Your dog is annoying.”
“I know.” I bounce on the spot. “Please?”
“Fine.” He sighs as we get to my car.
