“I don’t even want to know. If Eamonn wasn’t there, I probably would’ve rolled down the hill.” Rafe shook his head, waves of embarrassment coming overhim.
“Eamonn’s thebest.”
“Yeah. He’s cool.” Rafe thought of how wonderful he was last night, of that squinty gaze focused onhim.
Louisa pulled her chair closer. “Did you pull him lastnight?”
“Pull himwhere?”
“It’s slang. It means pick someoneup.”
“Like hookingup?”
“Iguess.”
Rafe put down his teacup. “What? No. Why would you even—I mean…Eamonn’s straight.Right?”
“Totalpuff.”
Rafe didn’t know much British slang, but there was one word he knew about well before his journey across the pond. He had to know what the word for gay man meant if he was going to be a gay man inEngland.
“Eamonn’sgay?”
Louisa nodded yes. As if it were no big deal. She got up and took out a small skillet from the cabinet next to thefridge.
“Seriously?”
She nodded again and grabbed a loaf of bread from thecounter.
“I didn’t know. I mean, I wondered…it’s the accent! The British accent is throwing off my gaydar. I’m gay. Did you knowthat?”
She nodded again and retrieved a block of cheese and butter from thefridge.
“Do you fancy him?” sheasked.
“Eamonn? I just met him.” Just knowing that Eamonn was gay got Rafe’s head all dizzy and his mouth all dry. He thought about last night, if Eamonn might’ve been flirting with him. He was probably just beingnice.
“I think you two would be quite cutetogether.”
“I’m not looking for ‘together.’ I’m only here for a few months. I just want to have fun. Like you and Heath.” Rafe had fallen for guys who’d been nice to him before. But the feelings had never been mutual. He would crush, then crash. Mistakes like that would not be made during Operation:Slut.
“Maybe it’s for the best.” Louisa buttered up the toast and cut slices ofcheese.
“Are you making a grilledcheese?”
“What’sthat?”
Rafe pointed at the stove. “A grilled cheesesandwich.”
Louisa giggled louder than Rafe expected. He didn’t think he said anything funny. “Grilled cheese?” She stretched the words out. “That’s what you callit?”
“Yeah. That’s what itis.”
“It’s cheese on toast,” shesaid.
“Cheese on toast?” That sounded a bit too formal to Rafe, as did everything British. “I mean, that’s technically an accurate description of what you’re eating, but you’re missing the best part. That’s it’s grilled. Mmmm.” Rafe couldn’t resist the salty, grilled aroma filling up thekitchen.
“Grilled cheese sounds like you tossed a hunk of gouda on abarbeque.”
