“Did anyone bring food?” I asked.
“Did you?” Owen countered, even as he rose from the seat. “I’ve got popcorn.”
“Hey, my contribution last week was a case of beer,” I stated, lifting my hands. “I can’t help that you all drink like fish.”
“Oh, gonna ignore the three you had?” Cas commented.
“I’ll bring a case next time,” August offered. “We’ve got to keep Owen stocked up.”
“Right, for the thirsty boy toys he brings home,” I called, loud enough that Owen could hear in the kitchen.
“Rory, I’m going to strangle you.”
“Kinky,” I responded. “You know I like it that way, don’t you, Daddy Owen.”
The cabinet door shut a little harder, and I bit back a laugh. Teasing him was always far too easy.
What was difficult was mustering the courage to ask him about the upcoming convention. I tilted my head back to stare at the ceiling, and Harper flicked me in the side again.
Oh yeah, and the fact I had a major thing for her dad.
Chapter six
Wyatt
Grocery shopping didn’t have the same allure it used to.
Not like it was ever a favorite pastime or anything, but I had so many memories of taking Harps with me and tugging the five thousand shiny things out of her hands that she’d pulled off the shelves. Even having to meal plan for the family held more of a draw than single dinners for myself.
I pushed the cart into the store with a rattle, and the cool air-conditioned space settled over my skin. Vegetables were a necessity, since my lettuce had pulled its magical wilting trick, so I veered in the produce direction first.
A guy was bent over by the tomatoes, his round ass thrust out, and my gaze lingered. He was lanky, slender, with low-slung sweats and a tank top on. My pulse quickened.
He stood up and turned, and I just about swallowed my tongue.
Rory Brannon. His gaze met mine, and he flashed me a grin that made his blue eyes twinkle. The dark sweep of his hair, the tattooslittering his arms, the canine that poked out with his smile—everything about him drew my attention.
“You stalking me?” he asked. “Because I’ll have you know, I like it.”
My heart thumped a little harder. “Pretty sure most people go to the grocery store.”
“Preposterous. I’ll just order takeout until I can make meals from my takeout leftovers. If you haven’t had pizza lo mein, you haven’t lived,” Rory proclaimed, swinging his basket back and forth.
A laugh escaped me. “That sounds foul. I’ll stick to some home-cooked meals, thanks.”
“What are you shopping for today?” Rory asked, peeking at my empty cart.
“Meal prep for the week,” I said, squeezing the back of my neck. “Thrilling stuff.”
“I’ve got a bag of pizza rolls, a zucchini, and some pasta so far,” Rory said. “Though maybe I should figure out how to get some eggplant into my week.” He waggled his brows.
I blinked at him. “Maybe a rollatini? Eggplant parmesan?”
Rory burst out laughing. “My dude, I’m referring to dick. Just for that, you’re getting an onslaught of eggplant emojis.” He whipped out his phone and one-handedly typed out a text on it. A second later, my phone buzzed.
“I’m slightly terrified,” I murmured. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks that I hadn’t pieced together what he referred to, but in my defense, I hadn’t trolled for dick before.
Not that it was out of the equation now.
