Page 71 of Lovefool

“Who says I didn’t buy prepackaged food?”

“Not your style.”

“You know my style?”

“I know you,” she corrects.

You may be the only person who does.

Cooking is therapeutic for me. It wasn’t always. I used to dread it. However, being a college athlete means that I have to watch what I put in my body.

I begin to unpack everything that I carefully placed into the basket on account of the ridiculous portion sizes, pulling out container after container as if I jerry-built some magician’s endless top hat. Lake watches in complete awe while the buffet-like spread doubles within the minute.

“That’s a lot of food,” is all she says.

“I, uh, wanted to make sure we had enough options,” I mumble, embarrassment lapping at the end of my sentence.

“Oh, it’s not a bad thing! I just…nobody has ever done something this kind for me before. Buford made abysmal attempts to feed me. A Slim Jim he picked up from the gas station, a bag of chocolate chips he found in his pantry. No single dinner date in the year that we were together. And I’m not super high-maintenance, you know? We didn’t need to go to a fancy restaurant. I just wanted quality time together.”

A muscle in my jaw clenches, the smallest iota of outrage surviving after all this time just so I could feel it in this moment.

I must be terrible at camouflaging my expression because Lake quickly tries to amend the situation, waving her hands like she means no harm.

“Shit. I’m not—I’m not comparing you two. I shouldn’t have brought it up. He’s so far in my rearview that I don’t even think about him anymore.”

“Trouble, I’m not mad⁠—”

“You are.”

“About that,” I finish. “I’m mad at him for thinking it was acceptable to treat you like some nuisance instead of a fucking partner.”

Buford Montgomery continues to occupy the top spot on my shit list, though none of his actions are surprising considering he’s as dumb as a goddamn doorknob. A Keebler elf who’s in dire need of a personality transplant. He deserved to get his house cricket-bombed, he deserved to get his face smashed in, and he deserved all those STDs he (allegedly) got from his never-ending roster.

Relief whittles her features, her shoulders drooping. “You already knocked his teeth out.”

“Mm-hm. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

I start dividing the food up between us so I can busy my hands. Aside from my own prosciutto sandwich, everything I brought was for her. I feel like I’m a penguin bringing its mate the best-looking rock in an attempt at courting.

Lake unwraps the cling film from the top of the charcuterie board and begins assembling a small sandwich of cheese, bread, and pepperoni. She pops it into her mouth with a loud moan.

Fuck, she’s going to kill me.

I remove the top of the Tupperware to the fruit salad, taking a page out of her book and popping something into my mouth to divert all these…unruly…feelings.

Why does she have to be so irresistible? Why do I have to unlearn everything my teammates taught me about playing it cool when she looks at me a certain way or makes a sound that reverts my resolve into some powerless, watery solution? I don’t think she even realizes the hell she puts me through on a daily basis.

Lake’s next target is a glistening peach slice, and I kid you not, I watch her eat it in slow motion with wet lips and a strong throat that rises and falls when she swallows. Excess juice runs down her chin, further accentuated by the light of the afternoon. I grip the living daylights out of the picnic blanket.

I usually would’ve eaten my share by this point. Is it normal for your heart to feel like it’s ping-ponging around in your chest?

I’ve been around Lake plenty of times before. Hell, this isn’t even our first date, yet I’m no better than some teenager who doodles his crush’s name in hearts. I’m not sure there will ever be a point in time when she doesn’t poke the bee’s nest in my belly.

I need to distract my mind.

“How’s Max doing?” I ask, picking at the crust of my uneaten sandwich.

She perks up at her brother’s name, shielding her hand in front of her mouth while she chews. “He’s doing really great. Whatever you said to him during your lesson changed his whole outlook on things. He said the bullying has stopped, and his coach has given him a lot of praise for all his hard work. And after the principal had a strongly worded talk with the Pedretti family, Mr. McDermitt agreed to not put the suspension on Max’s internal school file. You know, considering he didn’t instigate the fight in the first place.”