Page 43 of For Crosby

“Oh, and you’re funny.”

She lifted a shoulder as she sat down on the edge of my bed. “Don’t forget smart and talented.”

I laughed again, wishing I could hug her for being what I needed in that moment. But knowing what I knew of her, she probably would’ve kneed me in the balls. “I’m gonna have to agree on both accounts.”

She cocked her head. “How do you know I’m smart?”

I walked over to the bag of food she’d brought and reached inside, pulling out a clear plastic container filled with slices of ham.

“Well, you brought me ham and not turkey.”

“You don’t like turkey?”

“Nope. See? Smart.” I pulled out another container filled with roasted potatoes.

“So, how do you know I’m talented?” she asked with amusement coloring her tone.

I glanced over my shoulder at her sitting on my bed. So many inappropriate words sat at the tip of my tongue as my eyes moved slowly over her curves. Her chest. Her pretty face.

“I’m waiting,” she said, clearly knowing where my thoughts had ventured to.

“I’m editing my thoughts.”

The sweet sound of her laughter filled my room.

I smiled and, for the first time in a long fucking time, I wasn’t faking it. It had been over a year since I’d heard genuine laughter that had the ability to relax me and thaw my hardened heart. It sucked it came from a girl who hated me ninety-nine percent of the time.

Sabrina stood and closed the distance between us. I stilled, not wanting to do anything to make her feel uncomfortable in such close quarters. She brushed by me, moving to the bag and reaching inside. “I’m starving,” she said, pulling out the remaining containers, plastic dishes, and silverware.

Once she’d opened the containers, a mixture of delicious smells filled my room. We piled our dishes with ham, beef tenderloin, asparagus, rice, potatoes, and two types of pie. Sabrina sat back down on my bed while I sat backward on my desk chair, enjoying a quiet meal.

Sabrina seemed comfortable in my space. What was I saying? The girl exuded confidence and was comfortable in her own skin. It was clear in the way she entered a room. In the way she knew eyes were on her but she let them stare. In the way her clothes hugged her body in all the right places. Some girls used their looks to get them what they wanted. She didn’t. She knew she was hot, but relied on her intelligence and sass to get her what she wanted.

“Your mom made all of this?” I asked with a mouthful.

She nodded. “I helped with the pies.”

“Everything’s delicious.”

“Would’ve been a shame to let it all go to waste. My parents don’t eat leftovers, and I couldn’t eat it all myself.”

“No siblings?”

She shook her head. “You either?”

“Nope.” I finished off a slice of pie. “Did you have a nice Christmas?”

“Yeah.”

I could tell by her clipped response she didn’t want to make me feel bad for having a shitty one. “You don’t have to do that.”

Her eyes flashed up from her mostly empty dish. “What?”

“Downplay the holiday. Just because mine sucked didn’t mean yours had to.”

“That’s not what I was doing.”

“Regardless. You showed up here with food for an asshole like me. In my book, you can talk about whatever the hell you want to and I’ll listen. Unless you’re into reality TV, then I’m out.”

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