Page 60 of It's Not PMS, It's You
I watched Nick through the kitchen window as he went to the refrigerator, opening it for the parmesan cheese. Then he grabbed the napkins, pausing for a few seconds to look at something on the kitchen counter.
Wait a minute . . .
Had he looked at my phone?
Hopefully he didn’t see a text message pop up from Dee.
I tried to get a read on Nick’s face as he came back to the patio table and sat down across from me, wondering if he had seen something.
He handed me a napkin and the parmesan cheese, a suspicious smirk on his face.
“What?” I asked, almost certain he’d seen a text on my phone.
“Nothing. This looks amazing. Lasagna and . . . what is this?” He pointed to the pasta dish.
“Penne Bisanzio. It’s penne pasta with fresh tomatoes, diced eggplant, mozzarella cheese, and fresh basil. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” He scooped a spoonful of the pasta onto his plate. “Is this a regular thing for you, eating Italian food twice a day?”
“Not regular, but I would never complain about it.”
“But it’s your favorite food?”
“I like everything, really. Italian, Chinese, Greek, burgers, hot dogs, sushi, you name it.”
“Me, too.”
We were both quiet for a minute as we served ourselves.
Nick and I both looked up at each other when we moaned at the same time with our first bites, but I quickly glanced back down at my lasagna, taking another forkful.
Then we both lifted our wine glasses at the same time, each of us taking a sip.
That was weird.
It was like we were mimicking each other. Or heaven forbid, of one mind.
Why was my brain scrambled around him? We were just two adults eating food at my house, nothing more, nothing less.
I took another sip of my wine, glancing across the table at Nick.
I could tell he was inside his head with thoughts, biting his lower lip. There was something on his mind and he wanted to say it, I was sure of it.
Taking a sip of wine, he grinned, and set the glass on the table. “Oh . . . Dee wants you to call her when you’re done eating with sexy Nick.”
I blinked.
“Oh wait, was she talking aboutme?” His bottom lip quivered as he took another bite of food, avoiding eye contact like what he’d said was completely normal. “Do you know another Nick?”
I set my fork down. “I can’t believe you read the text message on my phone.”
He threw up his hands in defense. “Hey, the phone vibrated and lit up like a Christmas tree when I was standing by the kitchen counter. What am I supposed to do? It was impossible to ignore it. It wasn’t like I was waiting there, praying for a text to appear on your phone.”
“Right . . .”
“Oh—and Dee needs to know where you want to eat for your next date.” Nick laughed.
Scoffing, I balled up my napkin and threw it at him. It bounced off his forehead.
