“That tracks.” I laugh. “So basic.”
He sips his drink. “I bet my reason isn’t what you think.”
“I imagine you like them because they’re man’s best friend or something. Doesn’t every guy like dogs?”
“I mean, Jacks is obsessed with birds, so no.”
“Okay, then why do you like them?”
“I went to the San Diego Zoo as a kid, and they have this program where they pair cheetahs with dogs. It’s so funny because the friendship makes no sense, but they become best friends despite their reputations.”
I put my fork down and stare at him.
“The cheetahs aren’t used to living in the new environment, and despite their power are really anxious animals. It’s their instinct to run because they’re so damn fast, but the dogs help make them comfortable. I just think it’s really cool that a dog can befriend anything, even something as beautiful and wild as a cheetah,” he explains.
“Are you bullshiting me right now?”
“What? Why would you think that?”
“Is this some sort of metaphor? Am I the cheetah?”
“That depends. Are you saying you’re wild and beautiful?” He smirks.
My face heats.
“Forget it.” I take a bite of waffles.
He begins to laugh. “Oh, I get it,” he says. “You’re the cheetah and I’m the dog. Our friendship doesn’t make sense, but we’re going to be best friends. Is that right?”
“Forget I said it.” I roll my eyes.
“No, I like it. I know you’re nervous about moving in with me, but I’ll help make you feel comfortable. I promise.” Another goofy grin spreads across his face, and my stomach flips. I stuff another bite of waffle in my mouth, pushingwhatever the hell that feeling is as far away as humanly possible.
“So what’s your favorite animal?”
“A cat,” I say around the bite of food.
“Ha!” he laughs. “And you called me basic. Why do you like cats?”
“I don’t know; I’ve just always liked them.”
He chuckles and grabs a card. “What’s your favorite food?”
“You already know it’s waffles, but what you don’t know is that I usually like to eat them with mini marshmallows on top.”
“Mini marshmallows?”
“Yeah,” I smile at the memory that pops into my head. “When my brother and I were younger, my dad used to cover them with butter, mini marshmallows, and syrup. It’s delicious.”
“Noted,” he says. “Next time I’ll have mini marshmallows.”
A small smile breaks across my face.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask.
“Tacos.”
“So basic,” I say, giggling.
