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“Why are you always trying to feed me?”
I tilt my head at her. “I’m being nice.”
She rolls her eyes, moving the statue to her bag. For real this time.
“Was that your stomach? I think that was your stomach. I know for a fact you haven’t eaten gum or a Snickers bar recently.”
“Ha. Ha,” she deadpans. She turns, her hands twisting in front of her. “Are we really doing this?”
“Eating together? Or will you be watching me eat? Because I’m about to order pretty much every meat and vegetable that goes on a pizza, unless you’re allergic to mushrooms. Are you allergic to mushrooms?”
She shakes her head.
“Onions?”
She shakes her head again.
I can’t help but grin at her. “This would go a lot faster if you just told me what you like on your pizza, Charley.”
She sits on the bed. “Pretty much anything except anchovies.”
I make a face. “Anchovies weren’t even an option.”
She snickers, then with a hopeful glance she asks, “Pineapple?”
“You likepineapple?” She nods, and I shrug. “I’ll do it for you, but now you definitely can’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”
“Because pineapples are a bigger deal than saving Chuck?”
“It might be.”
“You’re weird,” she states. It’s not a tease, or her usual words slung at me and meant to hurt. She states it like a fact.
“You are, too.”
“Touché,” she says with a grin. “I just thought popular football players were cookie cutouts of assholes who think they’re better than everyone else.”
“Yikes.” I clutch at my chest playfully before clicking Order on the app. “I take it you don’t like football players very much?”
“I don’t like people very much, so don’t be offended.”
I grab the remote from the nightstand and lean against the pillows. “Well, if you had to line up across from big dudes who were twice your weight and intent on taking you to the ground, you’d have to have an ego, too. Otherwise, you’d talk yourself right out of ever starting a game.”
She peers at me, narrowing her gaze. “That actually makes sense.”
She stands there for several long seconds then looks around the room like she’s in a lab, searching for evidence, then slowly moves to the other bed and sits.
It can’t possibly be true, but her behavior is strange enough that it looks like she’s never hung out with anyone before in her life. “I’m glad you approve.”
I flick through the channels, stopping on a women’s college basketball game. It’s State. “Oh my God, have you seen this girl play?” I ask. “She was a phenom in high school. Quintessa Dale. She played on the boys’ team. I mean, she’s extraordinary. Definitely WNBA bound.” I sit up as the dark-haired girl steals the ball, dribbles down the court, and lays it in for an easy two points.
“Really?”
“We can change it,” I offer.
She laughs. “No, I mean, you actually think I’ve heard of her…because I’ve been a wealth of sports knowledge thus far?”
I turn to find her grinning at me. She’s a little more relaxed now, one leg propped up on the bed, a pillow behind her head. “What are you knowledgeable about?”