“Another two,” he replied. “There are four in there. Unless anyone else is coming for dinner…”
“I told you when I texted you that I always make too much food.” I put two more enchiladas on his plate. “Are you really going to eat four?”
“Are you really going to eat only two?”
“Look, taking another one into my bedroom to eat at eleven-thirty in bed is my prerogative, and I’d like you to keep your judging to yourself.” I poked my tongue out at him and took my plate over to the sofa. I grabbed hold of the remote and pointed it at the TV.
“Whoa, whoa, what are we watching?” He sat on the floor in front of the sofa and put his plate on the coffee table. “I’m not watching some girly shit.”
“I’m not watching sports,” I retorted. “I was going to turn on Netflix.”
“Yeah, but for what?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t turned it on yet.”
“Well, get on with it.”
I kicked him. “Tell me what to do again and see where that gets you.”
“Yes, Mom.”
I kicked him again. You know. Because I could.
I turned on Netflix and selected my profile. “I see you wasted no time in setting up your own profile.”
“Nope. I took one look at your girly shit and bounced right out of your profile,” Ethan said around a mouthful of food. “Damn, this is good.”
“Thank you. For both the compliment and not sullying my profile with your bullshit shows.” I scrolled to the section that had the shows I’d added to my list and rolled through them. I paused at Forensic Files where I was halfway through season six.
“What’s that?” Ethan asked.
“What it says on the screen,” I replied. “It’s murder cases.”
“Not girly shit?”
“Does it look like it’s fucking Mean Girls?”
“No, but you do.”
“I wish I’d poisoned your guacamole,” I muttered, starting the show.
He peered over and grinned, his cheeks puffed out like hamster cheeks with the food he still had shoved in his mouth.
The man was attractive as fuck, but this was not a look he wanted on a dating site.
Or anywhere.
Hell, I didn’t want it in my living room.
“Don’t do that,” I said, stabbing my enchilada with a fork. “It’s not a good look for you.”
He sighed. “Always crushing my dreams.”
“You have no idea.”
***
I mixed the cherry yogurt into the berry granola in my bowl, splattering yogurt everywhere. Honestly, it was no wonder I was single—the counter looked as though I’d given a six-month-old baby a spoon and asked them to feed a goldfish.
A dead goldfish.
I grabbed a cloth to clean up my mess and yawned. It was Sunday, which meant there’d be football games back to back all day long. From the early afternoon, at least. But it also meant I’d be in work early since yesterday was my day off—not that it’d mattered to Reagan, but she paid more per hour than Lucky’s, so…
I digress.
I just wanted Ethan to wake up before I went to work. I wanted to see the results of my sugar-salt switch for myself. I’d video it, but I didn’t want to tip him off that I was up to something.
I was fully aware that I was potentially starting a war here.
The problem was, I didn’t care. Not a damn bit. I knew he’d retaliate one way or another and that it would be worse than just nudging my candles.
Switching salt for sugar was pretty savage, after all.
Especially since we had no sugar left, so he’d have to go out to get coffee.
Poor baby.
A door opened from down the hall, and I cradled my bowl against my chest as I ate. Ethan stepped into view, his hand covering his mouth as he yawned. His dark-blonde hair was a mess, sticking up at all angles, and he was wearing nothing but a faded pair of sweat shorts.
It was annoying. I didn’t need to perv on him while I ate my breakfast. Biceps and a six-pack weren’t appropriate morning viewing, thank you very much.
He reached his hand down his shorts and scratched his balls.
I cleared my throat.
He jerked around, bashing his elbow on the fridge. “Shit.” He rubbed at it.
“Good morning,” I replied.
“Good morning.” He hit the button on the coffee machine to turn it on.
“You appear to have lost your t-shirt.”
“And your nipples appear to be trying to break out of yours.”
I adjusted so they were covered by my arms. Kinda. “Why are you looking at my boobs?”
“Why are you looking at my chest?”
“I can hardly miss it.”
“There you go, then.” He pulled a mug down from the cupboard, completely unbothered, and put it under the spout and set the coffee to pour.
It was happening.
I dropped my gaze to my bowl and shoveled a huge spoonful into my mouth. It was too much, and I had to spit some out into the trash so I didn’t choke to death.
Discretion was not one of my great abilities, and a poker face was not something I possessed.
Ethan side-eyed me, giving me a look that said he was wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
It’d been asked many times.
I still didn’t know the answer.
Ethan spooned sugar into his mug three times, added the cream, and stirred. He left the creamer on the side as he lifted the mug and took two huge mouthfuls.
He coughed immediately, throwing the full mug into the sink where it clattered against the stainless steel and hot coffee splashed all over the tiles.
I put down my bowl. “What’s wrong?”
The look he gave me was murderous. “Did you switch out the fucking sugar for salt?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied, picking up my water to take a drink.
He snatched the bottle from me before I had a chance and glugged down half the water. He slammed it onto the counter and stuck his tongue out, disgust etching into his expression.
With a shudder, he stormed off toward the bathroom, and the tap in there roared to life.
I laughed silently into my hand. Oh, man, this was so worth whatever was coming my way as revenge.
Famous last words, probably, but whatever.
“Fucking salt,” Ethan said from the bathroom. “Fucking Ava.”
I pressed both hands over my mouth to hide my laughter.
Yep. He was pissed.
He stomped back into the kitchen, eyes narrowed. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”
“Generally, no,” I replied, dropping my hands. “But right now? Absolutely. This is the best morning I’ve had in a long time.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at the ceiling. Then, slowly, he walked over to me and stopped just inches in front of me. He was still shirtless, and I swore I could feel the anger just emanating off him.
“Ava,” he said in a low voice. “You just started a battle you can’t win.”
Jerking my chin up in defiance, I met his burning, blue gaze. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
He held eye contact for the longest moment before he finally said, “We’ll see about that.”