drink?” I asked finally, tapping the balls of my hand against my thighs.
“Mountain Dew?”
I went to the fridge, grabbed the can and a bottle of tea for me. When I returned to the hallway, he was nowhere to be found, so I peeked around the stairs. He was sitting back on the couch and staring at the television. I shuffled over to him and handed him the can before taking my place back on the couch and twisting the top off my tea.
“What’s your favorite show?” he asked, turning to look at me as he popped the top of the can.
“ Grey’s Anatomy , I guess.”
“What’s the obsession everyone has with doctor shows?” he asked, his face serious as he turned to me and cupped the can in his hands. “They’re all the same.”
“In a sense,” I agreed, and turned to him. “The storylines are different, though. So are the personal lives of the characters.”
“How many times can you watch a doctor go in for surgery, though, honestly? My mother loves that show too, and I just don’t understand the appeal.”
I laughed and shrugged, sipping from my bottle.
“The actors are pretty.”
“Oh!” He chuckled. “Pretty actors make all the difference.”
“Usually.”
“I see.”
“What’s yours?”
“ Ghost Hunters .”
I raised an eyebrow at him, and he fidgeted, tapping against the sides of the can.
“Really?”
“It’s the only show I watch. Sherri has this thing with ghosts and all that.” He shrugged again. “It’s interesting.”
“My dad and I used to watch that all the time,” I said. “Now it’s all documentaries and history and poker.”
“Your father watches poker?”
I chuckled. “Sometimes he’ll get together with some of his buddies and have a poker night.”
“Here?”
“Oh, no.” I scoffed, waving at him. “He always goes to their place.”
“You and your dad don’t seem close.” I looked up at him and shrugged, picking at the green label on my bottle. “I figured that you would be. Since it’s just the two of you . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You figure things a lot for not knowing me that well.”
“Sorry.” He looked down and brought the can up to his mouth.
We sat in silence once again as he played with the top of his can, and I stared down at my lap in an attempt to think of something to talk about.
“You said that you cooked, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you make homemade macaroni and cheese?”
“Of course.”
“Will you show me?” he asked.
“You seriously want me to teach you how to make mac and cheese?”
He shifted uneasily.
“It’s my favorite and the only version I ever liked was my grandmother’s. She passed away three years ago, and my mom just can’t . . .” He took another sip. “She tries.”
“All right,” I said, standing up. “I’ll show you how to make it.”
He grinned—nearly stealing my breath—before he popped up. The way his face lit up and even the way his eyes seemed to brighten and widen a little, made him look like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You really have to wear a retainer?” I asked, tilting my head to the side as I looked at his teeth.
They were all pearly white, straight, and perfect.
“Yes, I really do. Makes me drool. Not a pretty picture.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes, as I turned on my heel and started toward the kitchen.
“Attractive, Drake.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the truth.”
I laughed and set my tea on the table as I pulled out two saucepans and placed them on the stove.
“Are you ready?”
He nodded enthusiastically and set his can on the table as well, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Well, get over here,” I said, waving him over as I sidestepped toward the refrigerator. “There’s a bit to do.”
He was by my side almost as soon as I said it, his hands behind his back as he watched me gather everything from the fridge and place the items on the counter.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with him. He seemed like he meant everything
“Mountain Dew?”
I went to the fridge, grabbed the can and a bottle of tea for me. When I returned to the hallway, he was nowhere to be found, so I peeked around the stairs. He was sitting back on the couch and staring at the television. I shuffled over to him and handed him the can before taking my place back on the couch and twisting the top off my tea.
“What’s your favorite show?” he asked, turning to look at me as he popped the top of the can.
“ Grey’s Anatomy , I guess.”
“What’s the obsession everyone has with doctor shows?” he asked, his face serious as he turned to me and cupped the can in his hands. “They’re all the same.”
“In a sense,” I agreed, and turned to him. “The storylines are different, though. So are the personal lives of the characters.”
“How many times can you watch a doctor go in for surgery, though, honestly? My mother loves that show too, and I just don’t understand the appeal.”
I laughed and shrugged, sipping from my bottle.
“The actors are pretty.”
“Oh!” He chuckled. “Pretty actors make all the difference.”
“Usually.”
“I see.”
“What’s yours?”
“ Ghost Hunters .”
I raised an eyebrow at him, and he fidgeted, tapping against the sides of the can.
“Really?”
“It’s the only show I watch. Sherri has this thing with ghosts and all that.” He shrugged again. “It’s interesting.”
“My dad and I used to watch that all the time,” I said. “Now it’s all documentaries and history and poker.”
“Your father watches poker?”
I chuckled. “Sometimes he’ll get together with some of his buddies and have a poker night.”
“Here?”
“Oh, no.” I scoffed, waving at him. “He always goes to their place.”
“You and your dad don’t seem close.” I looked up at him and shrugged, picking at the green label on my bottle. “I figured that you would be. Since it’s just the two of you . . .” His voice trailed off.
“You figure things a lot for not knowing me that well.”
“Sorry.” He looked down and brought the can up to his mouth.
We sat in silence once again as he played with the top of his can, and I stared down at my lap in an attempt to think of something to talk about.
“You said that you cooked, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you make homemade macaroni and cheese?”
“Of course.”
“Will you show me?” he asked.
“You seriously want me to teach you how to make mac and cheese?”
He shifted uneasily.
“It’s my favorite and the only version I ever liked was my grandmother’s. She passed away three years ago, and my mom just can’t . . .” He took another sip. “She tries.”
“All right,” I said, standing up. “I’ll show you how to make it.”
He grinned—nearly stealing my breath—before he popped up. The way his face lit up and even the way his eyes seemed to brighten and widen a little, made him look like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You really have to wear a retainer?” I asked, tilting my head to the side as I looked at his teeth.
They were all pearly white, straight, and perfect.
“Yes, I really do. Makes me drool. Not a pretty picture.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes, as I turned on my heel and started toward the kitchen.
“Attractive, Drake.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the truth.”
I laughed and set my tea on the table as I pulled out two saucepans and placed them on the stove.
“Are you ready?”
He nodded enthusiastically and set his can on the table as well, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Well, get over here,” I said, waving him over as I sidestepped toward the refrigerator. “There’s a bit to do.”
He was by my side almost as soon as I said it, his hands behind his back as he watched me gather everything from the fridge and place the items on the counter.
I still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with him. He seemed like he meant everything
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