His eyes narrow. “Are you against eating out?”
I snicker, walking past him. He follows me into the kitchen. “I meal prep, Dilly. It saves me money and time.”
“I would pay,” he offers, giving me eyes that mean well.
“Are you offering to feed me dinner two times this week?”
He laughs. “It’s not a big deal.”
I grab my precooked meal from the fridge and say, “This is my last meal of the week.” When I plop it in the microwave, I say, “Are you hungry?”
He shakes his head. “Nah.”
“Guess who’s going to be at the party tonight?”
He shrugs.
“Your best friend, Marina.”
He laughs. “She’s not coming to the party.”
“She said she was going to a frat party tonight.”
“That’s on campus. We’re going to Rocky’s.”
“Oh,” I say, looking at my food in the microwave. “She also tried to get in on your training times. She brought her two friends to the gym to ask me if I could train them at the same time I train you.”
His eyes bulge. “Did you agree to it?” he asks politely.
“Oh, yeah. How could I say no? They start on Monday.”
He bites his bottom lip, not saying another word.
I smile just as the microwave goes off. “I’m kidding. I told them I have no time, and neither do you, Mr. Hockey Player.”
“Thank God,” he mumbles, looking up at the ceiling—his Adam’s apple bobs.
I blow on my food, leaning on the counter. “Tell me what I need to know about your friends.”
His eyes dart to mine as I continue blowing on the steamy chicken. He walks over to the dining table and takes a seat. “They all know about you. They ragged on me the entire trip.”
“Harsh,” I tease.
“Annoying as hell,” he corrects. “But uh, let’s see. So, you met Scott and Westley. Westley is chill. Man is a saint. He doesn’t hook up; he’s quiet and easygoing. Scott is the opposite. Stubborn, determined, and out there. He’s going to pounce on you, so this is just a warning. Rocky is a good guy, but some say he’s arrogant. And he’s a player.”
“Like you?” I interrupt.
He watches me eat for a moment. “I don’t compare to Rocky.”
“Oh, so you blow him out of the park?”
He chuckles. “No, he’s better looking than me, so he lands all the girls.”
“Okay,” I click my tongue and then take another bite of food.
“Green is chill, easy going. And Russell is a dick, but he probably won’t talk to you. Half of the team celebrates at the frat house, so you don’t need to worry about anyone else.”
“Just Scott,” I point out.
