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“I’m allergic.”
It wasn’t surprising that she was looking at me like she didn’t believe me. Most people reacted the same way. “Seriously?”
“Yup. Learned the hard way a long time ago.”
“Wow, that sucks. What happens if you do drink?”
Pretty sure this is the first question she ever asked to get to know me better. Finally. But I’d prefer if she asked me anything but this. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing.”
Her mouth turned up slowly as she smiled wickedly. “I’m sorry, but your cheeks are getting pink, and the flustered look on your face is kind of cute.” I saw the top of her scalp when she looked down, and when she lifted her head, that grin was wiped clean away. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry, that was rude.”
“It’s fine.” I raked my fingers through my hair because it was embarrassing. “I get, uh, rashes everywhere, and some other stomach stuff. I initially ignored it, but when I started swelling with the rash, I finally went to the doctor.”
“That’s awful.” She sighed sympathetically. “Dammit.”
“Not a big deal. Don’t need alcohol to have a good time.”
Her gaze dropped to my mouth. “I suppose not, but that’s not what I meant.” She pointed at the countertop that had several bottles of liquor on it. “I wanted to thank you for helping me with Henry, and I didn’t know what you drank, so I got a variety.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything. I’m sorry you wasted your money.”
“Oh, it won’t go to waste.” My shoulders stiffened, and she quickly shook her head. “Not because of me, not like that. Yesterday was… that wasn’t me. Which is why I got so drunk from champagne. I don’t drink like that normally. Aside from the wine, I’ll keep the tequila for margaritas, but I’ll find someone else for the rest.”
As much as I appreciated the reasoning, she didn’t need to explain herself to me. “If I wasn’t allergic, I would definitely drink alcohol, so no judgment from me.”
“You’re not allergic to Chinese food, are you? Because that was the second part of my thank you.”
“No, sugar, I’m not.”
“Good. I’ll get some plates out, and we can eat.” She turned toward the kitchen, I followed, but then she stopped abruptly, and I bumped into her. “If you want to eat with me, that is,” she added, looking over her shoulder.
“You don’t ever have to ask if I want to spend time with you. The answer will always be yes.”
I saw her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she looked forward again.
She got dishes out while I opened up the containers. We made ourselves a plate, then went to the couch, where she raised the top of her coffee table that glided over our legs like one big TV tray. “What do you want to watch?” She turned the power on and held out the remote.
“I don’t care.” I pushed it back toward her.
“You won’t like what I watch, so just choose something.”
“What do you like to watch?”
Instead of telling me, she showed me. Her saved shows were nothing but game shows, and she clicked on the latest episode of Jeopardy. “If you get bored, we can change it.”
“I won’t be.”
We watched the beginning of the show, and after a few answers where Paris was mouthing the questions, it was like she couldn’t hold it in anymore and blurted out, “What is The Carpathia?”
I didn’t know that one, and neither did any of the contestants, so when she was correct, I was impressed. The next answer came on the screen, and at the same time, we said, “Who is George McClellan?”
“That is correct,” the host replied on the TV.
“How did you know that?” I asked.
