Page 52 of Perfectly Grumpy

I drop four boxes of cereal into the cart, including a kind that looks like tiny cookies.

He picks up the cookie cereal and studies the box like he’s thediabetes police. “Excuse me for enjoying knowledge,” he says. “And I don’t think the kids need cookies for breakfast.” He replaces the box with a bag of granola.

“You’re no fun. What about breaking the rules together?” I poke him in the side and notice how solid his abs are. Absolutely no muffin top on this man. Seriously, does the guy do sit-ups in his sleep? Heaven help me if the man ever loses his shirt around me.

“I don’t break the rules—unless necessary.” He gives me a look before he keeps walking, steering me past the candy aisle.

I look over at him. “The only dangerous thing you probably ever did was play hockey.”

“My parents forced me—against my will—at the beginning,” he says, picking up some protein bars.

“Oh, I have to hear this.”

“Well, I was obsessed with watching hockey as a kid,” he says. “Specifically old Wayne Gretzky replays. I memorized his stats, watched his best moments in slo-mo, and became fascinated with the physics of his shots.”

I burst out laughing. “You play hockey because of physics?”

“Are you surprised?”

I shake my head. “That is the most on-brand thing I’ve ever heard.”

“My parents told me that if I really wanted to understand the game, I’d need to learn how to play.” He adds a box of cookies to the cart—the sandwich kind that are my favorite. I didn’t even tell him I liked those. “Had no idea what I was getting into.”

I snort, then reach for four gallons of punch that are definitely too heavy for one trip. “Let me guess. First practice traumatized you?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He pauses, taking the punch out of my hands and loading it into the cart, like he’s been paying attention. “I told my parents I was never going back.”

“But they forced you to go?” I ask.

“I was too much of a rule-follower to quit.”

“Smart parents.”

“After a year, I loved it. I quickly became better than the other kids because I worked my butt off to out-skate them so they couldn’t smack me with their sticks. When you’re not naturally good at something, you’re forced to learn it faster.” He shrugs like it’s simple, but I’ve just discovered the key to Tate Foster: he doesn’t just stumble into something—he studies it, dismantles it, masters it step by logical step.

I turn and look at him, surprised to find out that he wasn’t a natural. On the ice it seems effortless for him. “And then you became an excellent player?”

“To me, it was all about science. Understanding force and thrust.”

I snort. “You probably shouldn’t say those words on a first date, Tate.”

It appears that he’s genuinely confused. “We’re on a first date?”

“Okay, technically our third, since the coffeehouse was our first and then the motorcycle ride according to @crushers_unofficial. But still—force and thrust?”

Tate shakes his head with a laugh. “And I told Rourke and Leo I wouldn’t mention any science terms with you.”

I stop in the middle of the diaper aisle. “What else did you promise them?”

He hesitates. “NoLord of the Ringsquotes either.”

I laugh. “Is that how you woo women? Do you ever cosplay as an elf on your dates?”

“The only costume I have is Gandalf. Oh, wait. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that either.”

“I can get into old wizard dudes,” I tease, picking up a package of pull-ups since Camden still needs them occasionally. “But everyone knows that Aragorn is the real heartthrob.” I toss the pull-ups at Tate, and he doesn’t even flinch at catching them. If I’d thrown diapers at Bart when we were dating, he would have let them hit him in the face.

“You knowLord of the Rings?” he asks, pushing the cart ahead for me. He looks intrigued.

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