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I nodded. “Oh, I’m fine. I just got frustrated for a second.”
He helped me gather the rest of the food on the ground and set it on the counter. He then began taking other items out of bags and putting them away. Part of me wanted to kick him out of the house, demanding he stop being in my hair. Another part of me wanted the help.
“Mace,” he drawed. I glanced at him. “What the hell do you plan on cooking with this food?”
I studied the items laid out across the counter. Eggs, milk, desserts. I also bought pretzels, mac and cheese, ramen, and a frozen pizza. I was pretty sure we had cereal already but I couldn’t remember. I didn’t want to spend money unnecessarily, so I just winged it and hoped we had some at home.
“I don’t really cook.. I mostly… snack?” I said it as a question.
“Oh, baby, you’re lucky I’m here.”
I scrunched my nose at him. “Don’t call me baby.”
I don’t like the way it flutters in my stomach.
But I didn’t say that part.
He inched closer to me. “Oh, but I like that look on your face too much. Maybe I’ll have to say it more often.”
My eyes narrowed at his challenge. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”
He didn’t respond as he turned around and pulled a skillet from under the kitchen island. He set aside eggs, milk, and pulled cheese out of the fridge, along with a plethora of spices from the cabinet next to it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m making scrambled eggs.”
“I don’t like scrambled eggs.”
“That’s because you haven’t had mine yet. The ladies love them.” He winked.
“How often are you cooking scrambled eggs for ladies?”
“Tell me about your sex life, Mace, and I’ll tell you about mine.”
I hate that I baited him with that question. That I allowed him to think I was curious about it.Although, I am curious.I shook that thought away. “I don’t care about your sex life, or your eggs.”
“Stop being difficult. I don’t want you starving to death out here all by your lonesome.”
Stop being difficult.
He cracked three eggs in a bowl, and I watched him as he added a dash of milk and began to whisk them.
“Why are you here?”
He stopped stirring and looked at me. That same intense expression he’d given me during our last conversation was on his face. “You keep asking me questions like that. Have you ever considered that maybe I like your company?”
“You’re an asshole to me, though.”
His grin was electric. “Because I like the reaction you have to me.” I wanted to ask him more, but I found myself afraid of his response. He continued anyway, “You’re witty, and quick as a whip. You’ve got a sharp tongue and averycolorful vocabulary. Interacting with you is…a challenge. Sometimes, I like to be challenged.”
Key word: Sometimes. As in, sometimes he enjoys bantering with me, but eventually I’ll become too much. Because nobody would want to be challenged all the time. Because sharp tongues, and quick wits are tiring. Because girls withcolorful vocabulariesare unattractive, as I’ve been told more than once.
He set a skillet on the stove and set it to low heat before pouring the eggs into it. “Besides, I planned on stopping by here when I finished fixing that pipe, anyway.”
“What for?” I asked.
He began seasoning the eggs, but I wasn’t close enough to see what spices he was sprinkling atop them. “I wanted to see if you want to come to an open house with me tomorrow. The couple that’s selling it is out of town for the holidays.”
