“Kind of notoriously carb-heavy food.”
“You have to just… live sometimes,” I said, shrugging. Granted, I did it rarely because it was easier to get my insulin right when I ate from a very strict menu of options. But every once in a while, you just needed comfort food.
“I get that. We could share the most carby option,” he offered, “so you’re not tempted to eat all of it and struggle to correct.”
I hated (loved) that he picked up on the general management of my diabetes so quickly. And that he had the perfect solution to me not overdoing it and struggling to fix it.
“It has to be lo mein.”
“Can’t go wrong with that,” he agreed. “And for the safer options… beef and broccoli is an option. Or chicken or shrimp chop suey. Moo goo gai pan.”
“Yes,” I said, getting a little chuckle out of Colter.
“Sounds good. I’ll order… look at your dog,” he said, nodding toward the doorway.
I moved toward him, glancing into his room to find that Sugar had claimed one of the queen beds in Colter’s room. She was sprawled out, legs in the air, jowls wiggling as she dreamed.
“Making up for all the time in the cramped truck,” I said. “Why didn’t you take the room with the king? You’re taller than me. We should switch. Especially since my dog is all over your bed.”
“Nah, we’re good,” he said, then silenced any further argument by choosing to actually call the Chinese food place. Like an old person. “Twenty minutes,” he said. “I’ll run down to the truck and get anything else we might need for the night or morning.”
He was gone before I could offer to help.
Though, let’s be real, I wasn’t really going to do that.
It was disorienting to go from someone who never asked for help, who adamantly refused it when it was offered, to someone who chose to sit on my ass while someone else dragged my stuff up to my hotel room for me.
I chose to let myself think it was simply because Colter would argue about it and I wasn’t in the mood for that.
But when there was a little kick to the door, prompting me to get up and unlock it, and I opened the door to see him there, yeah, I knew it was nothing to do with arguing.
It was him.
Some part of me seemed to want him to… do things for me.
I wouldn’t pretend to understand it.
But it was just… nice. I guess.
As was sharing a meal with someone, engaging in more small talk than eating, covering everything from shows and movies we loved to club stories. And it seemed like everything in between.
Colter, it seemed, wasn’t like other men I’d shared time with in my past. The kind who didn’t think to ask questions to keep a conversation going.
Colter was full of questions.
By the time we finished eating, my damn jaw hurt.
I wasn’t sure the last time I talked so much.
Once the food was cleaned up, I dragged a grumbly Sugar off the bed for one more quick potty break. Which Colter, of course, felt compelled to accompany us on.
I liked it more than I should have.
I didn’t even bring my damn gun.
But when we got back to our rooms, Sugar bounded through to Colter’s and got back on her bed.
“Girl, come on. We gotta go to bed. In here.”
