It all started with a game

Chapter 9

"Man, gorgeous, I don't think I can compete with a mafia boss. I should just give up now." I attempted to come back from the fact that she just managed to get me to take a spit take.

"You should just quit now, pretty boy, and declare me the winner."

My eyebrow raised. "In your dreams."

She grinned, "Don't worry, you will be."

My mouth fell open. That was smoother than most of my lines. I tended to the ratatouille, ignoring her, mostly because I wasn't sure of how to respond to that. Thankfully she was too high off Red Bull to even notice.

"Did you make that?"

I jumped, not expecting her to be so close as she suddenly popped up by my side, staring at the food. She really shouldn't scare the guy holding a hot pan.

I nodded. "Yeah, you want some?"

"It smells really good." She took a long sniff of it, sighing in delight.

I smiled at the sight, grabbing two plates.

"Here, I can make you a plate."

She shook her head, her mouth practically watering at the sight of the dish. "I wish. I'm allergic to tomatoes, so I can't. Although, that almost smells good enough to risk my life just to eat it. Quite tempting"

My face fell. Great. Mateo had one job. I know how to cook a hundred dishes that don't include tomatoes and he picks one of the few that do.

I bet he did this on purpose, so he can eat more himself.

"Okay, well, um-" I glanced around the kitchen, trying to figure out what I could make her instead that wouldn't take too long. "What else do you like?"

"I'm not picky; ramen, hot pockets, taquitos. I live with two boys and between the three of us, not a single one can cook, so I'm really not picky." She laughed, taking another swig of her drink.

I'm fairly certain I'd die if I had to live off ramen, hot pockets, and taquitos. "What's a hot pocket?" I questioned.

Her mouth fell open. "You've never had a hot pocket?" She practically shouted.

"No?" I hadn't even heard of one of those things, though they didn't sound appetizing, so maybe that's a good thing.

"That is a crime. I'm making you eat a hot pocket."

And before I knew it she was dragging me to the store to get an infamous hot pocket, which turned out to just be ham and cheese wrapped in dough, which I could have easily made at home within a few minutes.

The microwave beeped as she pulled out her own meal—if you could even call it that. She'd insisted we buy paper plates as well to 'get the full experience'. I can't remember the last time I ate something on a paper plate.

"Ready?" She asked, taking a sip of her one dollar coffee.

I'd offered to make her coffee myself but she'd insisted on dollar coffee instead, claiming that 'fancy French pressed coffee' would ruin the adventure of the hot pocket. What did I get myself into?

I led her to my room, opening the door for her. She wandered around, examining this room more carefully than she had any other room in the house. While she hadn't been interested in the rest of the house, she seemed fascinated by my room. Mine and Alexia's rooms were the only rooms in the house that didn't look like they were professionally designed by an interior designer, probably because they were the only two that hadn't been.

She finished her exploration, promptly flopping down on my bed, the bedding engulfing her. "You sleep with a lot of pillows," she commented.

"Yeah." Mateo made fun of me for it all the time. He claimed it was because I was 'lonely'. It most certainly was not. I just like pillows.