42. Dani
“What do you want to eat for dinner?” I ask, getting off the chair.
“What are our choices?”
“Maybe if you get your lazy ass off the chair and look in the fridge, you’ll find out.”
“Well, excuse me.” He gets up from his chair and walks over to the refrigerator. He opens the door and weighs our options. “There’s turkey, eggs, cheese, lettuce…”
“Stop listing shit and pick something.”
“Calm down, woman.” He grabs a package of tortellini out of the deli drawer, presenting me with it like the adorable dork that he is. “Is that okay with you?”
I walk over to him, leaning on the island behind us. An idea is brewing in my head.
“A woman on a mission,” he blurts out.
I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“You do this thing with your face when you’re fueled up.”
I fold my arms. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You’re doing it right now as we speak.” He cages me in, his strong arms creating a forcefield around us. “Your eyebrows furrow and your lips flatten out into a straight line.”
“Whatever. I’m a woman on a mission to make dinner. Unless you want to skip straight to dessert.”
I cannot believe I just fucking said that.
He bites down on his bottom lip.
Oh God, not the lip bite. It’s making me want to bite his lip with my teeth until it swells up like a balloon.
“We could if you want to, but I think it’d be better for our health if we don’t do that.”
I escape the forcefield he brought upon us, opening the fridge to search for the ingredients that are a part of my brilliant idea.
Pesto. Grated parmesan cheese. Greek yogurt. Cream cheese.
I haven’t made this in months, so I hope this comes out good.
If it comes out like shit, we might be having eggs for dinner.
Or maybe we might be skipping straight to dessert.