Page 28 of Biggest Player (Not Yours #2)

Dex

Why the hell would I lie and tell her I love to cook in my free time?

First of all, I barely have any fucking free time, and secondly, I wouldn’t know a lasagna noodle from my ass or a hole in the wall.

That analogy did not make any sense, but that’s only because I am Freaking the Fuck Out .

I feel like I mentioned to her before that I have a chef?

I stand at the counter, googling a recipe on how to make the famous Italian dish: easy way to make lasagna.

Lasagna for dummies.

How to make lasagna with basic ingredients.

“Fuck.” I’ll have to run to the grocery store or have supplies delivered because although Carrie does have the cabinets and fridge well stocked, I haven’t found any fat, flat noodles.

“Seriously. How hard could it be?” It’s just like pasta and sauce, yeah?

In a pan and shit.

“I am a grown man.”

Mostly.

Despite the fact that I am capable and smart and have been known to boil up a mean pot of spaghetti noodles, I nonetheless find Carrie in my phone and hit call.

“What’s up?” she answers after two rings, skepticism in her voice.

I get straight to the point. No time to waste.

“I have an emergency.”

“What kind of an emergency? There are six meals in the fridge.”

Yes, I saw those, but they will not help me in this case.

Broccoli chicken. Chicken and stuffing. Rice and chicken. Rice and vegetables and beer.

Basic, boring, lean meals.

“Can you come and make me lasagna?” I blurt out, unable to stop the panic from entering my voice.

“Lasagna?” Her voice raises an octave. “ That’s your emergency? Oh my God, Dex, why can’t you just eat the meals I made?”

“Because I want lasagna, not another version of your ‘chicken surprise.’ Come on, Carrie, help a guy out.” I pause. “Please.”

She sighs heavily on the other end of the line, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Dex, you do realize that I have a life outside of your kitchen, right? I do not work on the weekends.”

She isn’t telling me anything I do not already know.

Still.

I pester.

“Yes, but is it as fulfilling as making me happy with a delicious, cheesy, gooey lasagna?” Another pause. “With loads of ricotta and meat?”

I hear her closing a door and wonder what room in her apartment she’s in. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m charming, you mean.”

“More like exasperating. You should have most of the ingredients for lasagna. All you have to do is grab a few more. I know for a fact you have mozzarella cheese. And canned sauce.”

I cannot feed Margot canned sauce, not after the bragging I did about the recipe being passed down from generation to generation.

“What ingredients?” I say cautiously, already having googled the ingredients, but part of me knows that if I sound like a complete idiot who cannot be trusted ... maybe, just maybe , she’ll take pity on me and come to my rescue.

“Dex!” She sounds as frustrated as I’m becoming. “Stop being lazy and just order the damn noodles, sauce, cheese, and meat. It’s not hard.”

I pull open the fridge, staring into its interior. “I have an open jar of sauce and a block of cheese I think is still good.”

“Right.” She is not impressed.

“How old is this ground beef? Or is this tofu. It’s a mystery package.” I turn it over, this way and that, trying to read the label.

There’s a long pause. “Dex. Order a freaking lasagna from Capitano’s, this isn’t hard.”

“Will they deliver it in, like, a pan?”

“A pan? Lasagna isn’t served in a pan.”

“But I need it to look like I made it myself.”

Carrie groans. “I don’t even want to know why.”

She doesn’t want to know why, but I’m going to tell her anyway. “I have a date, and I told her I could cook.”

Carrie snorts.

Chokes.

Begins laughing so loud—and so long—I hold my phone away from my ear to wait her out.

“Oh my God, I’m literally dying right now,” she gasps. “I can’t. You are not that guy.”

I am that guy.

“If I don’t produce a realistic, homemade-looking pasta dish, she’s going to think I lied.”

Another cackle and Carrie is lost to me again, laughing her ass off on the other side of town.

“Would you knock it off, this is serious,” I sternly tell her, frowning.

“Is it, though? Is it serious?”

“I hate you.” Why am I her friend?

“No you don’t, you’re just pouting because I don’t have time to drop everything and race over.” She wheezes. “What time is your date coming over?”

“Six.”

“Dude, it’s already four! You cannot make lasagna in this short amount of time! You’re going to have to order it, you have no other option. Unless you want to eat at eight. It takes forever to bake.”

Anytime Carrie calls me dude, I know she isn’t fucking around.

“Shit.”

“Yeah—shit is right. Order it and see what happens. Actually, does your date even eat? Most of them don’t.”

I scowl. “This one is a normal person, of course she’s going to eat.”

“A normal person? Like. Normal?”

“Yes. She’s a teacher, for your information.”

I tilt my chin, bragging to my friend that my date isn’t my typical type.

Carrie lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Seriously?”

“Yes. And she has kids.” Well, she has one kid, but that’s like having several.

“Holy shit. You’re being serious right now.”

Why would she think I wasn’t being serious?

“Oddly enough.” I laugh. “I’m flattered you find all of this so shocking.” I feel like it gives me an edge. Makes me cool.

Carrie hesitates. “Huh. Well. If she’s coming at six, you better quit screwing around and order that food before they don’t have what you need.”

True. “Okay, boss.”

“Good luck,” she mutters. “You’ll probably need it.”