Page 22

Byron

That right there is the problem with group chats. We all have too many of them, and it’s too easy to text the wrong fucking group.

I’d rather pluck my eyes out than watch Lola walk back into the house holding Dalton’s hand. Instead of using my paring knife to gouge my eyes out, I find the girls’ liquor cabinet and pour myself what has to be the equivalent of a triple shot of tequila into a water glass. I down it in one go.

“Take any open seat. We are just waiting on my brother.” Lola tells him in a tone so sweet it sounds fake. If Dalton knew Lola he would know that. If Lola really felt comfortable with Dalton she wouldn’t need to put on this act.

I glance across the room with a fake as fuck smile to match Lola’s peppy buttery words.

My stomach starts to turn, at the sight of them flirting.

Lola giggles at something Dalton says while she reaches out and lays her hand on his forearm.

He places a chaste kiss on Lola’s cheek, before taking the empty seat next to Margo.

It happens to be the seat furthest away from anyone on the Westvale hockey team.

Lola almost floats back to the kitchen. A childlike giddiness radiating off her.

“Ollie should be here any minute if you want to start plating.” Her shirt rises up as she reaches for a stack of dishes. Who knew a sliver of back could be so sexy.

I hold up the stack of plates I brought with me. “One step ahead of you.”

“You haven’t let anyone back here, have you?” She says abruptly.

“No, Lola. I understand what a blind taste test is.”

Her eyes draw up to mine. A meek smile on her face.

“Sorry, it’s just that if I win, I want it to be because of the food, not some kind of blind loyalty.”

She’s getting antsy, asking questions she already knows the answer to. I think if she wins tonight it’s a sign to her that she made the right decision to change her major. If she fails, she’ll start to believe her parents were right.

I take her face between my hands. Her green eyes darken below her pinched eyebrows.

“Your food is amazing, and everyone knows it. You don’t need tonight to prove that to yourself,” I hesitate for a second. “I’m proud of you. You’ve been killing it all semester.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see bubbles flowing over the top of my cooking pasta.

“Fuck,” I mumble. I turn my back to Lola to turn off the flame and bring the pot to the sink.

Lola’s where I left her, her eyes are still locked on me. “Let’s get this show on the road,” I flash her a smile, while pouring the pasta into a strainer.

It takes about ten minutes to get both meals plated. We go around the table first with my dish, telling everyone not to take a bite until they have both in front of them.

After everyone has a plate of Lola’s food sitting in front of them we run through the rules.

“So,” Lola says as she claps. “As you all know, Byron and I got paired to work with each other for our restaurant class. We have been having a hard time deciding which pasta dish to include. That’s where you all come in.”

“You have two different versions of homemade pasta, red sauce and meatballs.” I add. “We’ll take a poll after, and the one that wins will make it on to our final menu.”

“Oh,” Lola jumps in. She points at her brother. “Oliver, if you can tell which one is mine, keep your mouth shut.”

The room erupts into laughter as Lola and I retreat back to the kitchen. We set a plate of our own recipe aside for the other to try.

“Holy shit Lo, this is amazing,” I say with a mouth full of food.

She laughs, braving the splash zone for a meatball from my plate.

“What the fuck!”

Lola’s fork falls to the counter, red sauce splashing onto my shirt. She rushes to the table to make sure everyone is okay. I grab the sponge from the sink and start to wipe down the counter. I’m loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher when Mia starts pawing at my feet.

“Dalton, are you okay?” Indy asks. Not caring enough to stop eating my dish.

“The dog just pissed on my foot. No, I’m not doing okay.” He grits his teeth before peeling his wet socks off.

“I’m going to show him where the shower is,” Lola says nervously.

“Go, we’ll take the vote when you get back.”

When Lola and Dalton are out of earshot the casual conversation starts to pick back up. I’ve never been so happy to clean up one of Mia’s accidents. I can’t tell you why she peed on Dalton; the girl hasn’t had an accident since we got back to Westvale.

Mia takes a seat at my feet. Her tail swinging back and forth.

“Did you just make your dad’s whole day? Did you? Did you? I think you did,” I coo.

“Ready to officially be crowned the loser?” Two green eyes peek around the corner.

“Nonna didn’t teach me to cook so I could lose to a wannabe Italian.”

I fall back with my hands over my heart. “Come on, let’s see if this wannabe Italian can pull off the shock of the century.”

We stand shoulder to shoulder as we give our friends a final second to decide on their final vote.

“Alright,” I rub my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. Fuck I’m nervous. “Thanks for coming today to help settle this little dispute,”

The votes are going to be cast by raised hands so we will essentially know who wins after the initial vote.

“Who liked dish one?”

Indy’s hand raises without hesitation.

One vote for Lola.

It takes a second, but Marcus and Oliver raise their hands

Three votes for Lola.

Aaron is talking to himself, still trying to make a decision.

“You’re not a damn food critic, Aaron make a decision,” Lola snaps.

“Damn, Pipsqueak, give the guy some time. He’ll make the right decision.”

“I liked the first one best,” that damn fool.

Four votes and a victory for Lola. We don’t even need Dalton’s vote.

“Aaron, are you fucking kidding me?” I groan as Lola begins jumping up and down.

“I always knew I would come out on top,” Lola whispers, so only I can hear her when I offer her a hug.

“You always were better on top.”

Lola pulls her head away from her chest like it just caught fire.

“Right when I was thinking we could have a mature friendship,” she scoffs.