“He’s not my—we haven’t—” I sputter, feeling heat climb up my neck. “We kissed once. That doesn’t make him my boyfriend.”
Gerard takes advantage of my momentary distraction to lunge for a slice of cheese. I slap his hand away without looking.
“OW!”
“I have peripheral vision, Gunnarson. And reflexes. Try again, and I’m telling Elliot about the time you ate his emergency chocolate stash.”
Gerard gasps, clutching his chest. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
He retreats, grumbling, to the kitchen table, where he slumps dramatically. Drew decides that theft isn’t worth the effort and settles for psychological warfare instead.
“So,” he drawls, hopping up to sit on the counter, his giant ass dangerously close to my tomato slices. “A picnic. Very romantic. Very old-fashioned. Very…Ryan.”
“That’s the idea.”
“What’s the plan? Sandwiches, sunset, and seduction?”
“There’s no seduction planned.”
“Oliver.” Drew’s voice drops into something almost sincere. “You’ve been pining after this guy for months. Years, even. You finally kissed him, and now you’re handcrafting artisanal sandwiches for a sunset picnic. At some point, you’re going to have to acknowledge that this is heading somewhere.”
I focus on layering turkey onto bread, not meeting his eyes. “I know where it’s heading. I just don’t want to rush it.”
“Why not?”
“Because Ryan’s never done this before. Any of it. Dating, kissing, relationships—I’m his first everything.” The knife pauses in my hand. “I don’t want to screw it up by moving too fast.”
The kitchen goes quiet. Even Gerard stops his dramatic sulking to stare at me with understanding.
“That’s sweet,” Gerard says softly. “You really care about him.”
“Yeah. I really do.”
Drew slides off the counter, and for once, his expression lacks its usual sardonic edge. “If it helps, I think you’re doing it right. The picnic, the taking it slow, all of it. Ryan’s lucky to have someone who gives a damn about his pace.”
“Thanks, Drew.”
“That said”—the smirk returns—“if you don’t make a move eventually, I’m going to lock you two in a closet and refuse to let you out until something happens.”
“That’s kidnapping.”
“Eh, you call it kidnapping, I call it tactical matchmaking.”
Gerard perks up. “Ooh, can I help with the closet plan?”
“No one is helping with any closet plan because there is no closet plan.” I wave the butter knife again for emphasis. “Now, both of you, out of my kitchen. I need to finish these sandwiches in peace.”
“Yourkitchen?” Drew raises an eyebrow. “This is a communal space, Captain.”
“Not tonight, it isn’t. Out.”
They go, but not without protest. Gerard casts longing glances at the cheese, and Drew lets slip an incredibly creative suggestion for my picnic that has me nearly chucking the knife at his head.
Finally alone, I return to my sandwiches. Ifind myself smiling as I work. Tomorrow, I’m going to take Ryan Abrams on a picnic. We’re going to eat sandwiches and watch the sunset, and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to kiss him again.
29
