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Chapter Six
O’Shea
“I got groceries!” I exclaimed when I entered the apartment later that evening.
“I hope that means you replaced the apple juice you drank,” she drawled, not even bothering to look away from the television as she flipped channels. I kicked the door closed and headed toward the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah. I didn’t want to hear you crying about it all night, so I did. I’m even going to put a big ol’ C on it so I know not to touch it.”
She turned around on the couch to face toward the kitchen. “You know my name doesn’t start with a C.”
“I never said it did, but Crybaby sure does,” I joked.
“Shut up, you ass,” she mumbled. I placed the bags of groceries on the counter and watched her for a few moments. Something seemed off from the moment I walked through the door, though I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“Hopefully you’re still not mad about last night,” I said as I unpacked the groceries. She ignored me. “I mean I didn’t know she’d be as loud as she was—”
“Please. To still be mad about that would indicate that I thought about you all day,” she said.
“Not necessarily, but I mean I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” I joked with a shrug. She turned around on the couch and glared at me, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink before she quickly looked away and turned around. What the hell was that all about?
“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she mumbled.
“I would, actually.” Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t respond or turn around. “Anyway, so how was your day? Was it okay while you were doing your important work?”
“I’m trying to watch a movie.”
“You’re still flipping channels.”
“Because you’re talking a mile a minute and haven’t even been in the house for five minutes,” she snapped.
“Sheesh, who pissed in your Cap’n Crunch, lady?” I asked. She didn’t respond, simply flipping through channels before finally settling on Lifetime. I shook my head with a sigh, opting to just put away the rest of the groceries. This woman was going to be tough to live with if she couldn’t loosen up enough to have a simple conversation.
Once everything was put away, I looked around the kitchen. “Do you have a skillet?” I called out to her.
“Somewhere in there,” she answered.
“Yeah, that’s real helpful,” I muttered. I searched through the cabinets until I finally found the one holding the pots and pans.
“Could you be any louder?” she exclaimed from the couch as I moved the dishes around. I smirked to myself and continued clanging pots and pans until I found the skillet. When I stood to my feet, she was on the other side of the island, giving me her signature scowl. Her nipples slightly peeked through the thin material of her tank top, causing me to fight the urge to lick my lips.
“Eyes up top,” she said, snapping her fingers.
“Right,” I said, a slight grin on my lips. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at the ingredients I left out on the counter.
“What are you making anyway?” she asked, keeping her eyes low.
“A peace offering,” I answered.
“A peace offering,” she repeated. “And what does this peace offering meal entail?”
“Chicken alfredo, one of my favorite things.”
She scoffed. “Sounds a little advanced, don’t you think?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You don’t think I can cook?”
“I didn’t take you for the type that knew how to,” she said with a nonchalant shrug. Now it was my turn to scoff.
