“Excuse me? I do not get hangry.”
“What was the time on the plane when you threatened to throw one of our teammates out the emergency door because you woke up late and forgot to eat breakfast?”
I throw my hands out to the side. “In my defense, TJ was being annoying as fuck.”
“On that fun note, we’re going to head out,” Mark says, wrapping an arm around Frannie and ushering her toward the hallway.
Brian waves as they go. “Have a good night.”
Just before they get to the door, I call out, “Happy boning!”
The last thing I hear before the door closes behind them is Mark’s grumbling.
“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Brian asks, heading into the kitchen.
I shrug. “It’s not like we all don’t know what theirdinner plansare. We’ll probably end up hearing part of the show.”
Brian grimaces. “A fancy building like this better have good insulation between the floors. I don’t need to hear my friends having sex.”
Across the room, our gazes connect, and something warm simmers in my gut.
I wouldn’t mind hearing him have sex.
Would I?
Blood rushes lower, and I quickly drop my gaze and stride toward the kitchen counter, refusing to let myself wonder if he was thinking the same thing.
It wouldn’t be impossible. Brian’s bi. It would be more…expectedfor him to be comfortable hearing a guy have sex.
Now I just sound like a creep. Great.
Mind out of the gutter.
“So, what do you want to do for dinner?” I ask, sliding onto a stool at the spacious kitchen island.
I fucking love this place. Living with Brian is going to challenge these feelings I might have—which is part of the reason why I’m doing it. There’s no better way to figure out my feelings than to share more space with him. Jump in the deep end, right? Or something like that.
“Actually, I have a surprise for you.”
My eyes lift, tracking him as he moves across the kitchen to the refrigerator. “You have my attention.”
“While you were taking forever and a day setting up your clothes earlier, I went down to Wholey Health Food and got?—”
“Cauliflower pizza crusts?”
I’m practically foaming at the mouth, but I make no apologies. Strict diets are the way of life during football season—and even the offseason—and the hardest part of that is my love for a greasy, carby slice of New York pizza. Or a whole pie. I’m shameless when it comes to pizza, and I’d do dirty, dirty things for the cauliflower pizza crust from Wholey Health Food becausesomehow it tastes like actual pizza and not weird mashed vegetables.
“Yes.” He sets two pizza crusts on the counter, then turns back to the fridge. “And some low-fat mozzarella cheese and low-sugar tomato sauce.”
“I love you.”
Something flares in his eyes at my words, then he smiles. “Obviously. I’m the greatest best friend in the world. You’re lucky to have me.”
Luckier than he knows.
Was I imagining the tiny shift when I said I loved him? Was it a good shift or a bad shift?
I need to cool it.
