Page 19 of The Sweet Spot

“It’s just that after you left, I did some googling, and that came up a few times. Then I worried I’d been inappropriate, so I wanted to assure you I wouldn’t ever touch you again like that.”

I pursed my lips. On so many levels, everything he’d said was so damn wrong. But I also noted that he hadn’t answered my question.

I shook my head and tried not to laugh. This whole thing was preposterous. “It’s nothing like that. You startled me. And if I’m honest, we’d had a conversation that hit close to home, and I was out of sorts. Let me assure you, I’m fine, and you can touch me if you want.”

Oof. That came out wrong, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Okay, I’m happy about that. Again, I should apologize for being nosy.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “No more apologies. I have a better idea. Let’s forget it?”

“Excellent idea.”

He finished his plate, had a few more slices of bacon, grabbed some snacks, and was out the door. I ran it all through my head as I cleaned up and headed out for groceries. As I filled my cart, I couldn’t help but notice that Brandon and I shared one quality: we were both a little socially awkward. Maybe it wasn’t obvious, but the way he went about asking questions and making bold statements was almost childlike as if he’d forgotten social graces. Maybe that quality was what upset his teammates.

After I’d gotten back and put away all the groceries, I sat at his island and mapped out more meal plans. I didn’t want to repeat too many of the same meals, and tonight’s pasta would be simple. The sauce would be sautéed garlic in olive oil. A simple sauce that tasted amazing. The pasta would have marinated artichokes, kalamata, tomatoes, Parmesan, and a touch of sharp cheddar. The fish would be baked in butter and olive oil and tons of fresh herbs. He'd have some steamed vegetables with simple seasonings, and the best part was that the vegetables and pasta could be eaten cold the next day or even later at night, and they would taste just as good.

I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t wait for him to get home. I was the seventeen-year-old version of me all over again when one of the hottest guys in high school was my chemistry partner. Jay Mitchelson was tall with blond hair that routinely fell into his face. He had the biggest blue eyes, and worst of all, he was nice. Not once did he rely on me to get us through the class. We worked hard, and he always said hi to me in the hall. I was also totally in love with him, but, of course, he was too busy chasing after Tangi. By then, she’d already been dating Ethan, but that hadn’t stoppedhim. He was the star of the football team, and she was the star of every team she was on. He’d even asked me to help him land a date with her. I’d been crushed. Once again, I was the “friend.”

Here, history was repeating itself, except Brandon had no choice but to give up on Tangi now that she was married.

My heart skipped when I heard Brandon come through the door. He popped his head into the kitchen to say hello and said he’d be ready for dinner whenever I was ready. I told him I needed fifteen minutes.

When he sat down to eat, he looked a different kind of tired. More mentally than physically?

“Long day?” I asked.

“A lot of watching videos and meeting with coaches. How many videos can you watch in one day? We had a light practice, but right now, I want to eat and zone out.”

“I have dinner ready for you.”

While he devoured his meal, I gave him a new list of foods and asked him to check off any he absolutely hated and others he preferred not to have. The only item he checked off was tilapia.

“Tilapia is farmed,” he said. “I like it but prefer not to eat it. I hate salmon.”

“Fair points. I should have known that myself about tilapia. I can’t believe I’ve included it on the list. My bad. Have I ever told you about bottom-feeders?”

He looked at me and squinted. “I don’t think I have the capacity to concentrate on what you are about to tell me, so let me guess: They live at the bottom of water and eat what’s there, which could be potentially harmful. So I should avoid eating those kinds of fish in larger quantities, and tilapia, when not farmed, is a bottom-feeder?”

“Pretty close,” I said, impressed. “There is an argumentabout whether tilapia is a bottom-feeder. People get passionate about this.”

He stopped eating and furrowed his brows. “Passionate? Really? Do they have physical altercations about it?”

All right, he was mocking me. “I see you can’t appreciate the controversy.”

He laughed out loud, and I know he didn’t mean it because he seemed shocked by his own actions. “I’m sorry. Itisfunny, but I shouldn’t have laughed. I do hope these two warring sides will come together to settle their differences and that no innocent tilapia get hurt in the process.”

I bit back my own laughter to the point my eyes started watering. I hadn’t seen much of his funny side—with a healthy dose of sarcasm—but I liked it.

“The whole debate is rather fishy,” I said, and he laughed again. Harder than he should have because the joke wasn’t that funny.

As he took a second helping of pasta, after telling me a few times how amazing it was and still chuckling about the tilapia wars, he lodged into questions again because it ended so well the last time. I guess he was feeling comfortable.

“How long have you been a vegetarian?”

“Years,” I said, cleaning up my dirty pots and pans.

“No,” he said.

---