Page 47 of Can't Kiss the Chef

Mia barks, drawing my attention. When I look back up my hair gets in my eyes.

Byron takes the scrunchie off my wrist and uses it to tie my hair back. Crystal clear blue eyes lock on mine. He slowly startsmoving toward me. I freeze. Do I let this happen? I can’t let him kiss me. Things with Dalton aren’t exclusive, so why can’t I?

“You better start cooking because we are starving.”

Indy is walking down the stairs and Byron abruptly pulls away. Mia jumps out of my arms and starts sprinting around the living room. She grabs the attention of our friends.

We turn back to our stations, starting to prepare our meals in silence.

My heart is full. My friends are scattered across my living room watching a preseason NHL game. Indy is perched on Marcus’ lap. Margo is playing fetch with Mia using the long hallway that leads from the living room to the stairs to our bedrooms as a runway. Aaron and Josiah are arguing over some college football game that’s happening tomorrow.

“I play football, you idiot. I know what I’m talking about.” Josiah’s voice carries through the house. Byron’s eyes meet mine from the other side of the kitchen.

“Don’t you kinda wish we were out there with them?” I ask when my laughter wains.

He starts rolling out his freshly made pasta.

“No, I’m happy in here with you.”

The words hang between us. I remind myself that Byron is just being a good friend.

“Is the table set? We are just about ready,” I yell. I might be small, but in my large, opinionated Italian family, you learn to be loud if you want to be heard.

“We got it!” Indy jumps off Marcus’ lap, and he groans, his hand flying to the television, I’m assuming, pointing to a pretty good game.

“It’s the preseason. It literally doesn’t matter.” She over-enunciates the last sentence.

We’re college kids so Indy grabs paper plates from the pantry. Everyone quickly takes their seats.

My old school chicken shaped timer dings. I go to grab my prized family heirloom, just nudging out of Byron’s reach.

“Damn, Pip. I didn’t know you had reflexes like that.”

“My brother and I were obsessed with Formula 1 as kids, and we used to practice all the reflex drills they do.”

“That’s why Oliver is such a good goalie.” Byron says under his breath to no one. Turning back to put the final touches on his meal.

“Fuck, Oliver.”

I pull my phone out if my back pocket hastily pulling up my texts. Four of my last seven texts are from my brother, mainly consisting of various ways to askWhere are you?and getting more aggressive as you go down the thread.

Me:

Called you an Uber! I owe you endless alcohol runs until the end of the semester.

That has to get me back into my brother’s good graces. Having a sister who attends the same college as you, and can buy you alcohol when you’re underage is a perk.

“Who else is coming?” Margo’s eyes dart between the two empty seats.

“Oliver,” Byron answers, not looking up from putting the finishing touches on his dish.

“That still leaves one seat.”

I watch the confusion spread on Byron’s face.

“I messaged the group asking if everyone was okay with Dalton, and y’all said you were.”

“No you didn’t.” Byron quickly looks at his phone. “I didn’t get a text.”

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