Loving Olivia

Chapter 5 - The Gatinha

"Doing what?" he asks confused.

"Taking things from the pantry."

He unexpectedly laughs. "I think that's what they're for." He reaches for a bag of chips and starts munching on them casually after ripping it open. He offers me some, but I quickly decline.

"So you don't want water anymore?" he asks.

"No, I think I'm good. I should probably head down to the party."

"Oh. Okay. I was going to make some food because I'm pretty hungry, but it's just the same way we got here."

He walks to the refrigerator and starts rummaging through the fridge, taking out bread and other ingredients in the process. I know that should be my cue to leave, but I can't seem to get my butt out of here. It isn't until he reaches underneath a cabinet and pulls out what seems to be a fancy sandwich griller that I realize he knows exactly where everything is.

I almost slap my forehead at my own stupidity when I put it together.

"This is your house?" I ask in awe.

He turns around and looks at me surprised, probably thinking I had left already. "Technically it's my parents', but I live here, yes."

"Oh."

It takes me a while to process this information, especially at the strange way he answered that. The times I've interacted with Nico before he never once struck me as the rich boy type. Sure, he looks more put together than the average guy, but I never imagined him coming from major money. Especially since he's never appeared to be the least bit cocky or arrogant, and while I'm well aware that is a stereotype, I've met plenty of guys that fit the bill.

"Wait, did you think I was randomly stealing someone's food?" he asks me intrigued.

"Yeah," I admit, feeling completely stupid.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I've only done that at my best friend Adrian's house because it was always stocked with the best American junk food, but that was years ago."

I find myself smiling at that comment for some reason. I love American junk food too.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? I can make a mean grilled cheese sandwich," he offers.

My stomach rumbles at the mention of that. I didn't have a proper dinner today so I am kind of hungry.

"That sounds great, actually. Do you need help?"

He shoots me a lopsided smile. "No, I'm good. Just have a seat, you're making me nervous."

I'm making him nervous?

Maybe it's because I'm fidgeting in the middle of his kitchen. I sit down at the island and watch him prepare the sandwiches. I don't think a guy has ever cooked for me before, and I don't know what to make of it.

"I haven't seen you at school lately," he says, peeking over at me as he opens up a package of cheese.

"I started this work-study program so I'm not there as often. I'm tutoring at an elementary school."

"Oh yeah? What's that like?" he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

"A lot tougher than I thought it would be. Most of the children there are underprivileged so it's basically helping teachers deal with disciplinary issues most of the time rather than actual tutoring. But when I do actually get to tutor I love it."

"What grade is it?"

"Second."

"Wow, they already act like wild hyenas at that age?"