She rolls her eyes, but fortunately, she looks amused rather than annoyed.
„Fine, you can chop onions or something because as talented as you are on the football field, you are kind of a disaster in the kitchen, sunshine.”
And just like that, my chest feels impossibly lighter. She called me sunshine, and I never thought the day would come when I would be happy to hear her call me that. I know it`s her way of telling me we`re all right.
„Thank you,” I tell her, and from the affectionate smile she gives me, I know she understands perfectly well what I`m thanking her for.
„Yeah, yeah. Less talking and more cooking. Let`s see how good an onion chopper you are.”
Chapter 7
Sophie
It turns out he`s pretty good at onion chopping. Good to know.
I usually don`t like anybody helping me in the kitchen because I`m the kind of person who wants things done a certain way, but I saw he was worried about ruining our friendship with that kiss, and I wanted to reassure him.
Does it suck that he`s regretting our kiss? Yes, especially since I don`t regret it one bit, but I`m a big girl, so I`m just going to have to get over it. I`ve been friend-zoned.
The lasagna`s been in the oven for about ten minutes, and the kitchen already smells like heaven, and that helps relax me a little.
Don`t you just love food? I feel like it`s the answer to everything.
Are you feeling depressed? Eat some food.
Headache due to low blood sugar? Eat some food.
Are you feeling horny? Eat some food.
Boyfriend cheats on you? Poison his food.
Food- it`s the answer to everything.
„God, that smells good. How much longer till it`s done?”
He`s looking through the oven`s glass door like he hasn`t eaten in days when, in fact, I made him a roast beef sandwich an hour ago.
I love how much he`s into my food; it`s the ultimate compliment for a person who loves to cook.
„It won`t be ready to serve for at least another hour, and besides, we need to wait for your sister to get here.”
„What, why? She can eat when she gets here; we don`t need to wait for her.”
He looks longingly towards the oven, and I can`t help but laugh at him.
„We can`t eat without her; it`s rude. Just eat an apple or something.”
He looks at me like I just insulted him.
„An apple? The whole house smells like meaty, cheesy goodness, and you want me to eat an apple? Are you high or something?”
„I said it once, and I`ll say it again, you are a drama queen. Now stop looking at the oven like you want to make love to it and help me set up the table.”
He does as I ask, but he`s sulking big time.
„When is she supposed to get here anyway? You know she`s always late.”
He`s pouting while he sets the plates on the kitchen table.
„If she doesn't get here by seven, then we`re eating without her.”
I roll my eyes at how dramatic he`s being, but before I get the chance to say anything, the doorbell rings. I frown because Ema has a key, so it must be someone else, but in the whole time I`ve been living here no one else has come to visit.
„Who the hell is that?” he says.
He doesn't seem too happy about having visitors, which isn`t surprising since he isn`t exactly a social butterfly. Like, at all.
„There`s only one way to find out.”
I head to the front door and open it just as the doorbell starts ringing again, and I come face to face with sexy Harry Potter.
He`s tall and lean with dark blonde hair that`s longer on top and has a slight curl to it, and the thing that brings Harry Potter to mind is his glasses. He has round glasses that manage to look hot on him, but that`s maybe because he`s wearing dark grey slacks that fit him perfectly, a white button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves and a tight vest that matches his pants.
Now that I think about it, he looks more like a sexy professor than a sexy Harry Potter. He`s not my type, but he`s pretty to look at, so I stare at him like an imbecile.
„Hello. You must be Sophie.”
Oh my God, he has a British accent. That makes the whole sexiness factor go up a couple of notches. Again he`s not my type, but still. It takes a couple of seconds for my brain to catch up before I figure out who this guy is. He must be Simon Masters.
In the beginning, I asked Max who knew about the trouble he had with the pain killers, and he gave me a concise list: the team owners, his coach, Ema, and his best friend, Simon Masters. He told me Simon was British and that they had met in college and have been friends ever since.
„Hi,” I finally manage to say.
„Yes, I`m Sophie, and you must be Simon.”
„That`s me. Is Max home?”
Before I get a chance to answer, I hear Max yell from the kitchen.
„Tell whoever it is to go away, I`m not sharing any more of my lasagna.”
Simon raises his eyebrows in surprise, and I can`t say I blame him. Max has become obsessed with the damn lasagna, and I honestly have half a mind to confiscate it and make him a salad instead. That would teach him.
„Please excuse him. He seems to have a lasagna fetish that I wasn`t aware of. Please come in.”
His surprise seems to have been replaced by amusement as he walks towards the kitchen.
„Well, I can`t say I blame him. It does smell bloody good in here.”
Did he say bloody good? Wow, that`s so British.
„Thank you,” I say just as we enter the kitchen. Max turns around at the sound of my voice, and when he sees Simon, he breaks out in a grin.
„I should have known it was you; you`re always stealing my food.”
„What can I say, I`m still
