OC:Penny is the best, everything she says is correct and awesome, and she’s so smart.
Pacey:LOLOLOLOL
Penny:Good boys . . . very good boys.
I placethe pan from the drawer on the stove.
You can do this. You can cook. It can’t be that hard. The instructions are so simple a child could make it. Nothing can go wrong.
I turn on the burner, then pull the ground beef out of my grocery bag and set it on the counter along with my other ingredients, ketchup being one of them. Who fucking knew?
Not sure where Blakely is, but I don’t bother looking for her while I open up the pre-chopped onions. It was a solid find forme because to hell if I was going to have Blakely find me in the kitchen crying while chopping.
I toss some oil in the pan, then throw the onions in the pan as well, taking a step back because fuck those things smell. I study the pan. See? Easy.
“Are you cooking?” Blakely asks, walking in from the balcony.
I had no clue she was out there but hope she really likes the furniture. I had her in mind with every piece I purchased. The table so she could work out there. The loungers so she could relax. And the loveseat so that maybe one day, we can sit in it together with an open fire.
“Yeah. Sloppy joes. I’m going to have extra if you want some.”
“I love sloppy joes. Do you want me to help?”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I say as I grab a wooden spoon, pretending I know what I’m doing as I stir the onions around. “I have stuff to make a salad to go with it. Do you like salad?”
She smirks. “Yes, I love salad.”
Of course she likes salad, you idiot. What kind of question is that?
I’m losing my confidence.
Between Penny scaring the literal crap out of me, the pressure of not fucking up my chances, and the insane conversation I had with Blakely earlier about the bed, I’m flustered.
“By the way, I moved your bed.”
I pause stirring and look over at her. “What?”
“I found these things that helped me slide the bed through the apartment. The hardest part was getting the mattress on them, but once I did, it was smooth sailing from there. And moving the air mattress was a piece of cake.”
“I told you I didn’t want the bed.”
I toss the ground beef into the pan, unsure if my timing is right, but hell, it’ll all cook down together.
“Your lower back says differently.” When my eyes narrow, she says, “Uh yeah, I looked up your injuries to prove a point. See, told you not to mess with me. The bed is yours. I’ll be snuggling up on the comfort of air tonight.”
“Blakely . . .”
“What?” She smiles proudly at me.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh yeah, what are you going to do about it? Switch them back?”
“Yes,” I say. And without even thinking about it, I charge toward my room to switch the beds right then and there.
