He grunted, apparently satisfied. “Make some for me. I’m starving.”
As he moved away, he adjusted his shirt and smoothed his pants, surely trying to perfect his already immaculate appearance.
“Oh hey”—she snapped her fingers—“I forgot to tell you. I put your runway out back. It was getting in the way. You’ll have to practice your Zoolander poses out there.”
He stopped smoothing his pants. A slight red hue colored his cheeks. “Cute,” he said with a scowl. He strode toward the front room.
Smirking, she went back to her task. She couldn’t beat ’em, or join ’em, but she could surely make fun of ’em!A half-hour later, she feigned nonchalance as she placed his plate on the coffee table in front of him. The ingredients were simple, but she’d made sure the taste and presentation were elevated. Given all she’d done wrong since she’d met him, she wanted to impress him with one thing she could do right.
Without saying a word, she retreated to the recliner in the corner, desperately trying not to be obvious as she peeked at his face. She’d cooked for Samantha a time or two, and that had gone over well, but Devon was so exacting that she was afraid he’d pick out each flaw.
He lowered his phone to the side and studied the contents of the plate. “Where’s the meat?”
So then, more of a broad strokes kind of guy when it came to food.
She huffed out a laugh and settled down with her meal.
“I didn’t have any. A portabella is similar, though. Kinda.”
He scowled before sawing into the mushroom, his movements coarse and unrefined compared with her former roommate’s. It meant, unlike Samantha, he hadn’t spent his life in fine restaurants across the country.
A stress knot eased out of Charity’s shoulders.
Devon popped the bite into his mouth as he surveyed the TV. His head jerked down to his plate. “Mmmm.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Jesus, Chastity, this is good. I had no idea vegetables could taste this good. Weird.”
Apparently that nickname would stick. Great.
Except she found she really didn’t mind all that much. A smile wrestled with her lips as a thread of pride wormed through her.
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Devon shouted, back to bending over his plate.
Andy sauntered into the room with wild, windswept hair, a T-shirt with little holes running along the seams on his shoulders, and the smell of the sea.
He plopped down on the couch opposite Devon, the closest seat to her. “Charity, my Charity, how goes it?”
“Hi, Andy. Hey, I didn’t mention the other day, but I recognize you from—”
“Whatcha eatin’?” His head swiveled to Devon and then back to her. “Did you cook?” He leaned closer. “Did you make any for me?”
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize I should’ve.” She also didn’t have enough money to feed other people.
As if hearing her thoughts, Devon said, “I haven’t gone shopping yet. She whipped this up from what she brought over last night. Get something frozen or order pizza.” His voice dropped an octave. “And give her a little room to eat.”
“She’s got room.” Andy barely leaned away. “I’m sick of pizza and frozen food. It’s all I ever eat anymore.”
“Not my problem.” Devon scraped his plate and then licked the prongs of his fork.
Definitely not the refinement of Samantha or her friends. It was refreshing.
Another knock. At Devon’s call, in walked the guy named Rod, a giant with hulking shoulders and surprisingly graceful footsteps. His dark eyes flashed around the room, touching each person before settling on Charity’s plate. “What’s that?”
“Dude. She cooks. Looks good, too.” Andy’s gaze followed the fork up to Charity’s mouth.
“Did you make any for me?” Rod asked, bending to get a better look.
“This is getting awkward,” Charity mumbled.
Dillon and Macy filed in next, fingers entwined. Macy beamed at Charity. “Hi! You decided to join us, huh? I could use another girl.”
Andy leaned toward Charity again. It didn’t seem like he could help himself. “Bite?” He opened his mouth like a little baby bird.
“Back off, Andy,” Devon growled.
“You’d think I had drugs or something.” She handed her loaded fork to Andy, who bit it so eagerly that he almost dented the metal.
“Oh my God,” Andy said, falling back against the back of the couch. “Charity!”
“Why? What?” Rod took a step closer. “Is it good? Is it that good?”
“It’s ah-mazing. A-may-zing!” Andy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and Charity let her smile blossom at his antics. She supplied Rod with a bite.
“Good God, woman.” Rod shook his head at her. “You’re a rock star. I mean, my dad is a pretty good cook, but he ain’t got nothing on you.”
“All your dad knows how to do is grill,” Andy said. “She’d whoop his ass.”
“I just said she was better, didn’t I?” Rod replied angrily.
“You said she was better—you didn’t say she’d stomp on him, slap his ass, and call him Susan.”