“Of c-course,” I stutter out, my cheeks growing hot. He gets this smug kind of look in his eyes at my reaction, and that soft smile transforms into a sexy sort of smirk that’s somehow way, way worse.
Averting my gaze, I swallow hard and fumble for the remote, eager to play the show and distract my mind from what just occurred. I do my best to focus, but it’s hard with him right next to me and the image of that smile-turned-smirk lingering in my head.
After finishing off my second slice, I shoot him a few discreet glances. He’s lounging back against the couch, arms crossed and legs stretched out, watching the TV intently. Halfway through the episode, though, he pauses the show and turns to me. I wait for him to yell at me for being creepy, but instead, he says, “There’s an obvious strategy to winning this show.”
I blink at him and try to speak normally this time. “There is?”
“You don’t have to be the best baker,” he tells me. “You don’t have to pull off the most ridiculous cake. You just need to do a decent job and make it to the next week. Survive and advance.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“In season one, Delilah won none of the weekly challenges, but she was never in the elimination round, was she?”
I think about it for a second. “I guess not…”
“But you know what she was? Consistent.” He shakes his head. “They don’t reward risk-taking. I can predict who wins the season based on this episode alone.”
Before I can respond, he plays the episode, and when there are ten minutes remaining, I pause again, glancing over at him with raised brows. “Well? Predictions?”
“Easy. Shane’s going to win. He made a great tasting pie, decent brownies, and a good tiramisu. Were his desserts the most notable? No. Was he the most consistent with his flavor and execution? Yes. Shane wins.” He nods, leaning back on the couch with his arms crossed, looking quite pleased with himself. “I’m sure of it.”
“I don’t know. My money’s on Margaret.”
“Margaret?The girl with the undercooked crust?”
“That was the only thing she did wrong. All her other dishes went above and beyond.”
“Nope. Margaret’s too ambitious.”
“Ambition is good,” I point out. “High risk, high reward.”
“In life, sure. But this show rewards playing it safe.” His eyes narrow at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
I blink innocently at him. “Like what?”
“Like a zoo animal.”
“You seem very passionate about this, is all.”
“Yeah, well. It’s obvious.”
“We’ll see,” I say in a sing-song voice. “You really like being right about things, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he replies without hesitation. “Everyone likes being right.”
“True, but most people don’t brag about it.”
“I don’tbrag.”
“Mhm. Sure, you don’t. Youneversaid I told you so when I decided not to move into that apartment.”
“Well, that was different.”
“Different how?”
His dark eyes sweep across my face for so long it’s like he’s trying to memorize my features. “I don’t say shit like that to most people.”
“Oh, so I’m just lucky, then?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
