My heart rampantly flutters. “You don’t get compliments often, do you? Is that why it went straight to your head?”
“I do but not from her.” His soft eyes level with mine, steadying me as if they knew I felt a little off balance from his words.
“You should take her words with a grain of salt. Her words tend to be fickle.”
“Unpredictability happens to be my middle name. So, I guess that makes the two of us fickle.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works, and I thought it wasJesus?”
“That too.” He grins.
I smile a little. His eyes flicker down to my mouth and stay there a little longer.
It feels like we’re encased in a bubble again, but before we can get carried away by it, the microwave beeps again, reminding me I haven’t eaten.
“Are you about to have dinner?” he asks, looking at the time on his phone.
“I am.” I reheat my food knowing it likely got cold. “Have you eaten?”
“I haven’t. I just got out of practice. I came over really quick to let you know I am going to stay before I grab something?—”
“I have a lot of food. Do you want some?” I’m asking but already taking out one of the containers from the fridge and placing it in the microwave when mine is done heating up.
“I don’t want to take your food. I made that for you,” he says, and not a second later, his stomach is grumbling loud.
I give him a pointed look, letting him know I’m not going to argue with him.
“Thanks, Jos.” He tenderly smiles at me. “I should probably go put this away.” He pats his duffle. “Same room?”
I nod. “Same room.”
“Be back, roomie.” He winks at me before he’s casually walking away as if he’s been here plenty of times before. As if this is an everyday occurrence, something he’s used to.
When he’s back, I tuck the Post-it note in the waistband of my shorts, and grab the silverware.
“How do you feel about eating outside?” He grabs his food and mine, stacking one on his forearm like a waiter, and grabs the glasses of water with the other.
“I guess it’s going to happen whether I like it or not.” I go to help him, but he doesn’t allow me. “I can grab that.”
“I know but I’ve got it.” I open the door and guide us to where the table is.
“What are you trying to do? Show off?” Once he’s set our food down, I take a seat, and he takes one next to me.
“Why? Are you impressed?”
“Maybe a little.” I act nonchalant as I stuff a brussels sprout into my mouth. I softly moan, savoring how sweet and spicy it is. “I should send your mom a thank-you card. She did a great job with you. I can’t believe how good this is.”
He chuckles. “They’re just brussels sprouts.”
“Amazing brussels sprouts. These are my?—”
“Favorite.”
My eyebrows furrow. “How’d you know.”
A simpering smile curls on his face. “Uh, in your interview you said your favorite meal after training was this. That you could live off this so…” He clears his throat. “If you do that, just be prepared.” He cuts into his salmon and I shouldn’t but I raptly watch him place the fork between his lips, reveling in the soft hum of his satisfaction.
I’d joke about his stalker tendencies but I can’t. I’ve never had—no one has ever—I can’t believe—I don’t know what to think. But I do feel…overwhelmingly emotional.
