Page 68 of In the Net
Fartoo domestic. The kind of thing couples who’ve been together for months would do. The kind of thing couples who live together would do.
But before I can think of a reason to object, Sebastian already has hold of a shopping cart and is pushing it past me, out of the vestibule and into the shopping area.
“Hurry up, dear,” he calls over his shoulder in a sing-song voice.
I’m surprised how the sarcastic term of endearment hits me, like a pleasant hum. I’ve never been into pet names with any of the guys I’ve actually gone out with.Dearmight be old-fashioned, but I kind of think I wouldn’t mind a guy I’m dating calling me that.
A guy I’m dating for real, that is. A guy who definitely isn’t Sebastian.
Admitting defeat, I follow him.
Sebastian makes a beeline for the frozen food section. “We have a decent stretch of time without a game coming up, so me and the guys at the house are treating ourselves to a real delicacy for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
Sebastian pulls open one of the freezer doors and grabsfourfrozen pizzas, depositing them in our cart.
I fix an unimpressed look at him. “You are such college guys.”
A smirk makes a dimple dig into his left cheek. “Guilty as charged.”
“Aren’t athletes supposed to take care of their bodies?” I quip as we walk down the aisle.
“Don’t get haughty on me, dear.” There’s that word again. “Don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed the temptation of a frozen pizza for dinner now and then.”
I eye our cart. “Not the extra-large mega-meat lover’s triple-stuffed crust.”
“Don’t knock it ‘til you try. Maybe for one of our date nights you can come over and I’ll make one for us.”
“Pass.” I lower my voice to say, “Besides, that wouldn’t even be in public. It would defeat the purpose of a date night.”
A shade of disappointment crosses his upbeat expression. It doesn’t take him long to shake it off, though.
As we keep shopping, Sebastian seems to have a comment for everything I put in our cart.
Why does just thinking those words—our cart—make the back of my neck feel hot?
“Tuna? Yuck,” he says as I pick up two cans.
“I like to have it with my pasta,” I say.
“Your whole-grain pasta?” he asks, sliding his eyes to the carton of it I picked up in the last aisle.
I lift my chin. “Something wrong with that?”
He just laughs, shaking his head. “Are you on a soccer team or something and you’ve never told me? You’re eating cleaner than any of the guys on the team.”
I just flash him a prim smile and keep walking. “Food fuels your brain, too,” I say, a sanctimonious ring to my voice.
Even though my back is turned to him, I can visualize the way he rolls his eyes. “Cheesy,” he scoffs.
We pass an area in the back of the store where there are home goods for sale. I stop when a big box catches my eye.
“Oh, that would be perfect,” I say to myself.
“What?” Sebastian asks.
I’m looking at a self-assembly kitchen island table that seems perfect for our kitchen.
