Wow… good omelets and cookies? I don’t know what to say.
Say you’ll have dinner with me tonight.
Girl of my dreams
Hmm sounds tempting.
I’ll cook. Whatever you want.
Bold of me to offer to cook for her, but I’d learn how to make a four-course meal if I needed to for her.
Girl of my dreams
Do you like seafood?
I like everything.
Girl of my dreams
Right. Okay… I could go for some shrimp tacos. But maybe a bowl version? I can help cook.
Yeah, I’ll need to look up a recipe or figure out what I need to make this, but I can do that. How hard can it be?
Done. And nope. I’m cooking, just come over. 7:30 good?
Girl of my dreams
I’ll be there.
I slide my phone into the pocket of my shorts. A grin the size of Texas on my face and I’m physically unable to stop smiling. I haven’t shared a single detail about Demi with anyone—and not that I haven’t wanted to, because god, have I. But I don’t know how much Demi wants people knowing about her personal life, and somehow, I’ve become part of that personal life.
“Look at that smile.” Ford’s strides slow as he approaches me.
“Only one reason for a smile like that,” Nate says as he pulls a shirt over his head.
The two of them stand before me, Ford’s hands on his hips as he’s smiling at me.
“Will you two leave me alone? Jesus Christ. Can’t a guy just smile?”
“It’s a big one, though. So, who’s the girl?” Nate tips his chin my way.
“Oh. You know what? I know.” Ford turns to Nate, whispering something in his ear like they’re fucking kids.
“Just whatever you’re saying, say it out loud.” I grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder and run my free hand over my hair.
The locker room has emptied out for the most part, just a few stragglers at the far end aside from the three of us.
“It’s D-E-M-I,” Nate whispers.
“I don’t get why you just spelled her name. These are grown-ups around us, you know that, right? They can spell.”
Ford’s thumb jerks in Nate’s direction. “Dad life.”
“I’m not saying anything.” I take a few steps toward the doors, both of them not far behind me as we all walk out into the hallway.
Not saying anything gives me away, but it’s also not something I feel comfortable discussing until I know Demi is okay with it. The last thing I want is for her to feel judged or uncomfortable at work—not that these clowns would make her feel that way, but I know Demi. Unless she wants people to know, it’s not up to me to share. She clearly told Abby we’re neighbors, which is probably the only reason Ford suspected Demi to begin with. Well, and I suppose me spilling that we had coffee together might’ve tipped them off too.
The two of them change the subject as we’re walking out. I hear mentions of different routes and screen plays, and I feel settled knowing they’re now talking about practice and no longer my life. Although I want to fucking scream about how I’ve kissed her two times, I’ve been giving my best poker face for weeks.
