“No.”
“You’ve never spent a summer folding clothes in a department store.”
“Also no.”
“You’ve never had a manager named Steve who took his job far too seriously.”
“I have met several coaches named Viktor.”
Dean laughed. “Not the same thing.”
“I fail to see the distinction.”
“I know you do.”
The grin spreading across his face made me suspicious.
Experience suggested that was rarely a good sign.
Dean’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You actually don’t know.”
“Know what?”
“Luka.” He sat up on the bed. “You’ve never grocery shopped properly.”
I looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve never stood in a supermarket at eleven at night trying to decide whether buying Pop-Tarts in bulk is a cry for help.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what Pop-Tarts are.”
Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “Good God.”
The laugh escaped before I could stop it.
Dean looked unbearably pleased with himself.
He nudged my knee again. “One day I’m taking you on a proper American road trip.”
“That sounds suspiciously like a threat.”
“It should.” Dean settled more comfortably against the headboard. “You’ll drink terrible coffee, we’ll get lost repeatedly, and you’ll discover that half the gas stations in the country sell food nobody should be eating.”
“You continue describing unpleasant experiences.”
“That’s because you’re proving my point.”
“What point?”
“You think the destination is the important part.”
“Isn’t it?”
Dean shook his head. “No. It’s everything that happens on the way there.”
