“You don’t have to buy me dinner.” She grabs her iced tea, smiling around her clear glass straw as she takes a sip.
“We don’t have any groceries,” I remind her. Not surprisingly, food doesn’t last long with three athletes under one roof. The cupboards are either totally stocked or depressingly barren.
“True.” She sighs, ice cubes rattling as she stirs her drink. “You guys demolished every scrap of food we had. The fridge is pretty empty, and the freezer is even worse. Someone must’ve gotten desperate because even the frozen vegetables are gone. I was going to place an order with FoodSave for delivery later. How the hell do you survive?”
“We eat at school a lot.” One major perk of playing for Boyd is that the hockey team has a rotation of chefs on staff who prepare healthy breakfasts, lunches, and dinners Monday through Friday, plus pre-game dinners on Saturdays. Things like protein pancakes and turkey sausage; grilled chicken wraps and raw vegetables; roasted sweet potatoes and seared steak. Being able to grab a meal or snack any time I need is a lifesaver, especially when you eat as much as I do.
“Plus, constant grocery shopping,” I add. Except one of us doesn’t keep up their end of the shopping bargain and by one of us, I mean her brother. “We take turns cooking when there’s food.”
“I like to cook, but I’m terrible at cleaning as I go, and I always end up making a huge mess. You can add me to the rotation as long as someone else is on dish duty.” She wriggles out of her black cardigan to reveal a pale blue blouse with a deep V-neck. A delicate gold chain drapes around her neck, a teardrop crystal pendant hanging from it. She’s dressed up more than usual. I think it’s because she was nervous for her first day of classes at Boyd, but I suspect she’d never admit it.
“Sold. You cook, and I’ll clean.”
“Maybe one of us should think about joining Costco,” she adds, pushing her half-empty iced tea aside. “You guys eat in bulk so we might as well shop that way. I don’t understand how we went through three bags of chips in one afternoon.”
“Ask Carter and Ward. They eat junk like it’s going out of style.” Reaching over the coffee table, I pass her another stack of menus. Our fingers touch ever so slightly, and I try to ignore the effect it has on me because I’m a grown ass man who definitely shouldn’t be excited by something as minor as playing handsies.
“And the entire package of cheese tortellini?”
“That one’s on me,” I admit. “In my defense, goalie gear is heavy. I burn a lot of calories in the ice.”
Seraphina rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile. “Not to mention whatever happened to the cheese strings, one dozen apples, two loaves of bread, the variety pack of Greek yogurt, and, most upsettingly, my emergency pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream.” She holds up a hand, ticking the items off on her slender fingers.
Shit.
“Er… it was my cheat day, and I didn’t know that ice cream was yours. Sorry, Tink.”
Her eyes widen at my confession, and she smacks my hand. “That was Haagen Dazs, Hades. The good stuff. If you mess with my stash of pink Starburst, our friendship is officially over.”
“Noted. I’ll replace the Haagen Dazs, and I won’t fuck with the Starburst. Promise.”
“I’m going to start keeping food in my room,” she grumbles, but her foot is still resting against mine. “Maybe get a mini fridge with a lock on it.”
“As long as it’s pink.”
“Obviously.” A smile plays on her lips. “I hope you realize you owe me now.”
“Name it, and it’s yours.” It comes out before I can stop myself, and it sounds even more suggestive than I intended.
She reaches across the couch and playfully boops me on the nose. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Goaltending hones your patience, and right now, that’s a good thing. Seraphina has been leafing through the menus for various local restaurants for over twenty minutes, flipping back and forth like it’s a life-or-death decision. I’m trying not to rush her, but my stomach is growling so loudly it sounds like there’s an angry rottweiler in the room and I’m going to gnaw off my own arm if I don’t get something to eat soon. I’d happily take food from any or all of these restaurants at this point. Hell, we can hit up three or four places if that’s easier.
She scrunches up her mouth, inclining her head as she studies a yellow-printed leaflet for Thai Boat.
“What do you want to order, Tink?” I ask.
Her head snaps up, her dark eyes wide. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen so many menus in my life. There are too many options.” She waves a hand at the list, growing frantic. “Whenever I go to restaurants, I always check online ahead of time because I’m indecisive and I freeze on the spot. And now there are like fifty restaurants to choose from.”
“I can give you some suggestions to help narrow it down if you want.”
“Can you just pick a place and order a few things for us to share? I’m not picky.”
“Any dealbreakers?” I ask, gently prying the stack of leaflets from her hands. I’m beginning to see that she isn’t quite as easygoing as she tries to make everyone else think. And I don’t mind that—at all. I’m just not sure why she puts on a front.
“Mushrooms and olives.” Pausing, she shudders. “No organ meats, either.”
It’s not a lot of direction to go off, so I verify the order with her before I submit it online to make sure we’ve got things she’ll eat. An hour later, we’re surrounded by a sea of nearly empty takeout containers.
“Guess how I know you were the last one to empty the dishwasher?” I offer her the last samosa, then take it for myself when she declines.
“How?” She sets down her fork, cocking her head.
“Because you left half the cupboards open.” This isn’t an exaggeration. It might have been more than half.
Seraphina bursts out laughing. “That isn’t my fault,” she protests, gesturing with a piece of coconut naan. “That’s an ADHD thing. I can’t help it. It’s like I legitimately don’t see them.”
“Honestly, I think it’s cute. It’s your calling card, like a reminder Tinker Bell was here.” It made me smile when I saw it this morning. She leaves a little trail of destruction everywhere she goes, and I find it oddly endearing.
Don’t get me started on our shared bathroom. Between the jars, vials, and tubes, there’s zero counter space to be had. The entire room smells delicious 24/7, so I can’t complain too much. I’d never live it down if anyone else knew I secretly sniffed her coconut shampoo every time I’m in the shower.
“Shut up, Ty.” She shakes her head, still giggling.
“Question fifteen,” I say, leaning my forearms on my thighs. “What are you taking in school?”
It’s the wrong use of a question. Her mouth pulls into a frown, and she looks away before answering. “I…don’t know yet. I need to decide soon, but I haven’t found the right fit.”
“That’s okay. There’s no rush.”