Page 57 of Drop the Mitts

"Yeah. I do. It's about decisions, isn't it?"

Grace blinked. "What are you talking about?"

André didn't answer, just scanned the QR code and waited for the menu to load. When the items populated, he scrolled down the list. Showing up with tacos that night had been a stroke of inspiration, because now he had the cheat code. That look on her face? It was the same one she'd had when he stood on her doorstep. And because she'd been on the verge of a mental breakdown, she hadn't been able to hide what it meant.

“I'm going to get the loaded nachos, the marinated olives and spiced nuts, and the sliders." He looked up.

Grace stood with her hands at her side. "That's a lot of food."

"Yeah. Some would say it’s enough for two." He held her gaze a moment, then finished checking out. When he had the confirmation, he set his phone on the bed beside him. "Should be here in about thirty minutes."

She dropped to the bed, as far from him as humanly possible.

André lifted the remote and clicked on the TV. He flipped through the streaming options, completely tongue-tied. It wasn't often that he was speechless, but with her moving softly on the bed and his heart galloping like a racehorse, he could barely read the titles on the app icons.

"I can sign into my Netflix," Grace offered.

He clicked on the red square and it went directly to the menu with the profile "AmeliasEx" listed at the top of the screen.

"I have so many questions," Grace murmured.

André clicked on the recently watched section. The Human Centipede, Trailer Park Boys, MILF Manor, and PAW Patrol: The Movie. "Pretty sure I don't want the answers."

"Who doesn't log out of their account on a hotel TV?"

André blew out a dramatic breath. "Okay, not all of us have project management software running in our brains at all times. Some of us are just trying to remember which episode of MILFManor we're on." The corner of her mouth turned up, and he took that as a win.

André clicked on the icon, and Grace made a noise. He grinned. “For science, Fairbanks.”

She groaned and threw herself back against the pillows. “Don't pretend you haven't already watched this episode.”

His grin widened. "Oh definitely. But now I want to watch you watch it." The opening credits began: dramatic music, slow-mo close-ups of middle-aged women in bikinis strutting down a tropical beach, intercut with young men oiled up and flexing.

Grace stared at the screen. “This exists? People watch this?”

“Look at the lighting. This is art." He shifted to face her. "Someone’s mom just said she wants a man with stamina. These women are advocating for themselves."

Grace gave him a sidelong glance. "Well. We don't always get what we want."

André's blood rushed south. He'd said that to her. Was it a random comment or did she remember?"

Grace adjusted the pillows and crossed her legs under her. “They overdid the slow-motion hairflips.”

"How many is the right number of hair flips? In your professional opinion."

"Three. Everything's better in threes."

He grinned. "I agree."

Grace rolled her eyes as the host appeared, disturbingly enthusiastic, saying something about age being a number and explaining the potential of your son being your roommate. "Gross."

André's jaw tightened. "Please. Hammer home your disgust with younger men a little harder."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "You just seem to bring it up a lot."

"No, I don't."

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