Page 14 of No Shot (The Toronto Tundra #2)
Bri
For being downright panicked before bed, I slept surprisingly well. I can ’ t lie, knowing Penn was downstairs gave me a sense of comfort. Not his presence necessarily, but the fact that there was a six-foot-something man in between me and any potential murderer.
When I tiptoe down the stairs, I ’ m surprised to see no sign of Penn anywhere. Padding over to the kitchen, I pause, reading the note scrawled on my notepad.
My shift was over, but the protection fee was higher than usual. (I ate all your food)
I ’ ll make it up to you. I can drive us to the store after practice for a restock.
Don ’ t open the door unless you hear the secret code.
Knock, knock, knock, knock-knock. (If you forget it ’ s: Soup is a scaredy-cat)
See you later.
-Penn
Yanking open my fridge door, I ’ m left with nothing but my package of tofu front and center and a quarter of my oat milk. I chuckle because he clearly wasn ’ t desperate enough to devour the tofu. His loss, honestly. A wildly underestimated protein if ya ask me.
When I check my calendar and to-do list, I mentally plan out the rest of my morning.
I ’ m still shocked that I wasn ’ t scheduled to work, and I fully intend to make the best of it.
I ’ m caught up on all my readings and homework, but that doesn ’ t mean I ’ m going to sit back and relax.
Am I an overachieving hard-ass? Maybe, but I will be a successful overachieving hard-ass, thank you very much.
I grab my schoolbooks, drop them on the counter, and get to work.
***
“ So, uh, how was your day?” Penn asks, giving me a quick glance before returning facing forward again. He ’ s been acting weird since he picked me up.
“ Good, you?”
“ Good-good, good is… good?” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.
“ Are you okay?” I ask, trying to decipher his reaction.
“ Course, why wouldn ’ t I be?”
“ I don ’ t know. You seem off, or nervous or something.”
He clears his throat, looking down at my outfit. I love this look. Cardigan, black skirt, knee-high tights and little black booties. It reminds me that fall is coming. It ’ s easily my favorite season.
“ You look nice.” The sincerity of his tone throws me off. He peeks over again, but averts his gaze as soon as I spot him.
“ I know,” I reply. That makes him crack a smile.
“ I ’ m sorry for eating all of your food.” The topic change throws me for a bit of a loop, but then again, this whole ride has been odd from the get-go.
“ I ’ m sorry for making you sleep on my couch.
” It ’ s comfy, don ’ t get me wrong, but knowing Penn, he probably has a ten-thousand-dollar therapeutic mattress in his room.
Actually, scratch that. It ’ s probably one of those heart beds from The Sims. That ’ s what every eligible man-whore has these days, right?
I chuckle to myself, but Penn seems too preoccupied to notice.
“ It was alright.” He continues his vice-grip on the steering wheel. What is up with him today? “ I liked all your food stuff.”
“ Food stuff?”
“ Yeah, with the containers and shit. It was really good, and I feel like it ’ s handy.”
“ Oh, meal prepping?” He nods.
“ I ’ m a shit cook,” he admits. “ I used to raid Jack ’ s fridge all the time, between snacking there and ordering food, I was pretty much covered, but now I ’ m… not.”
“ Well, what kind of food can you make?”
“ Toast, cereal, ramen, Kraft Dinner, oh and uh, I used to roast marshmallows, but there was an… incident.”
“ Penn?”
“ Yeah?” He finally looks over at me.
“ None of those qualify as actual meals.” I place my hand on his forearm.
I meant it as some sort of fake consolation, but his eyes snap to mine the moment we make contact, and I draw my hand back.
“ You never learned to cook?” Alright, good, keep the conversation going.
Ignore how ripped his arm was. How nice it was to touch him.
“ My mom is a great cook, so she always was making things for the family. When I was at school, I lived on campus with an unlimited dining plan, and after that, I don ’ t know, I just never picked it up.
” If I didn ’ t know any better, I ’ d think he was embarrassed.
Ego-centric star athletes don ’ t get embarrassed, though, right?
“ It ’ s never too late to learn…”
“ Do you think you can teach me how to do that?”
“Um, yeah, I guess I could give you some of my recipes.”
“ Tonight?” he asks hopefully.
“ Oh?” I hesitate, wracking my brain for some sort of excuse.
I ’ m not trying to avoid him necessarily, but a little bit of distance between me and my hot neighbor would probably be for the best. Besides, I feel like we ’ ve been the two amigos for nearly twenty-four hours now.
Gotta throw in some animosity every now and then. Shake it up a bit.
As we pull into a parking spot outside the grocery store, he replies, “ Just think about it.”
We ’ ve stepped less than twenty feet inside, and Penn has already filled half of his cart.
Anything I ’ d expect a toddler on a “ yes” day to get, he has.
So far, we have chocolate, puff pastries, an artisanal pink lemonade, blueberry pie, fudge, and for good measure, kettle corn popcorn.
He ’ s sucked in by marketing, that ’ s for sure.
He ’ s grabbed every featured item we passed.
As we navigate through the produce section, I pick up a few of my usual staples.
Easy-grab fruits, veggies that can be added into most of my meals, and lettuce for salads.
When I ’ m happy with my selection, we continue forward, and my favorite aisle comes into view.
I immediately pivot. Ahh, the safe haven of the vegan section.
I study the fridge, looking for my go-to brand.
“ Oh my god, we have to talk about the oat milk. WHAT is your problem? You have beef with cows or something? You just like the taste of cardboard water masquerading as good old-fashioned milk?”
“ I ’ m allergic to dairy, asshole.”
His eyebrows draw up. “ Oh, my bad. You may proceed,” he gestures toward the glass-paned fridge, holding the door open for me as I stock up.
“ Have you always been so adulty?”
“ Adulty? ” I ask as I continue to grab the dairy-free treats I love.
“ Yeah, put together, well spoken, mature…”
“ Are you really complimenting me right now?”
“ Yup, teach me your ways.” He thinks he ’ s got me.
“ Brown-noser,” I mutter under my breath.
“ Damn-it, thought that ’ d work,” he whisper-shouts, aw-chucksing the air.
“ You ’ re gonna have to try a lot harder than that, especially if I ’ m supposed to spend the rest of the day teaching your sorry ass how to do more than boil water.”
He suddenly stops in front of the cart, gripping it with both hands, flexing his forearms to stop the movement.
“ Make you a deal.”
“ I ’ m listening.” I fold my arms across my chest.
“ You help me meal prep, and be more adult-y, and I supply you with endless light-hearted fun in your otherwise dreary life.”
I scoff. “ Hard pass.” Pushing the cart forward with all my might, he raises an eyebrow at my excess force.
“ Andd… I ’ ll drive you to groceries every week and carry your bags up to your apartment.
” Ah, fuck. That is far too enticing. It takes three buses to get here, and it ’ s pretty much the only place nearby with all the allergen-friendly snacks I need.
I can never really get as much as I ’ d like because schlepping it all back is such a hassle. This could be a massive game-changer.
I don ’ t reply, and Penn continues, “ Come on, pleasseee?” He slaps his hands together, pleading. “ I ’ m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, begging her to help keep him fed.”
I crack a smile. Fuck. “ You ’ re a child.”
“ A ridiculously good-looking man -child.”
“ Don ’ t make me change my mind,” I warn.
“ Does that mean?” He looks up hopefully. I drop my arms, continuing ahead.
“ Yes!” He rushes over and picks me up, twirling me in the air. “ She said yes, folks!” he shouts.
“ Put me down, right now or I ’ ll fucking bite you.”
“ Promise?” He winks as he sets me down and continues ahead like nothing just happened.
What the hell am I doing?