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He chuckles. “Do you know anything about football?
I twist my lips and shake my head. “Honestly? No. I’ve never understood it. My brothers tried to explain it to me, and they’d always draw these things out with Xs and Os and squiggly lines, and I had no idea what any of it meant.”
“I’ll teach you without drawing anything.” He laughs. “The very bare bones basics is that the goal is to score more points than the other team.”
“Like in most team sports,” I say.
He nods. “A field is a hundred yards, and we take it ten yards at a time. We get four tries, or downs, to move the ball ten yards. Do you know what it’s called if a team moves it those ten yards?”
I bite my lip. “A first down?”
“Very good! And if they don’t move it those ten yards?”
“Then the other team gets the ball?” I guess.
“That’s right! See, you know more than you think.” He beams at me a little—or maybe I’m just delusional. He fills me in on more of the basics with no Xs and Os, and I learn that he’s a cornerback, which is a type of defensive back. His job is mostly to guard wide receivers, who usually run down the field to catch the ball.
“So I’m dating the defensive back?” I ask.
He flashes me a smirk. “It appears that way.”
By the time he’s done explaining it to me, our last batch of cookies is almost done baking, and I feel like I understand the basics of a game I’ve never taken the time to understand.
Just the way he’s explaining it shows me how passionate he is about the game, and the best part is that we’re talking about it while indulging in my passion, too.
“Ready to try one?” I ask, picking up a cookie from the first batch which has been cooling on a rack.
He nods, and I hand it over.
“Are you trying one?” he asks.
“You go first.” I’m not sure why I’m suddenly nervous, but this is the first cookie of mine he’ll be tasting, and we made them together. It feels like a lot hinges on him actually liking them.
He takes a large bite and chews, his face giving nothing away as he lets the flavors roll over his tongue before he swallows.
“Well?” I ask.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
I pump a fist into the air then pick up a cookie for myself.
And he’s right. It’s pretty damn good. I guess I’m not just a normal pastry chef after all. I’m a damn good one.
We’re both finishing our first cookie when the door opens.
“Ava? You home?” Kelly yells from the front door.
“In the kitchen!” I yell back, and she appears there a moment later.
And she’s not alone. It looks like my roommate scored herself a baller, and the wide smile stretching across her lips tells me she’s happy about it.
“Graham,” Grayson says cordially.
“Nash,” Austin says back with a nod.
“Anyone want a cookie?” I ask as a way to break up the sudden awkwardness. Grayson and Austin don’t really know each other yet, and now they’re thrust into an interesting situation.
“I’ll try one,” Austin says.
