Page 68 of Damien
Grey straightens after putting the ice in the chest, then brings an offended hand over his heart. “Hey, I find ways to fend for myself… but I will admit I’m gonna miss the hell out of your cooking.”
“I know you will, brother,” Drew says as he pats Grey on the back. “Maybe someone will take pity on you and start a feed Grey fund. Instead of donating food to you, they will take the food you buy and give you a home-cooked meal once in a while.”
My jaw drops. Is he that bad of a cook that he won’t even try for himself?
“Drew,” I start to admonish, but Grey cuts me off.
“No… he’s not lying.” Then he rolls his eyes dismissively. “You burn one pot of boiling water, and you never hear the end of it with this crew.” He points between Drew and DeShawn.
“Seriously?” How the hell can you burn water?
“The place smelled for weeks. The Teflon pan was toast,” DeShawn joins in. “Though let’s be real. No one cooks like our man Drew. He may be our lead scorer on our team and gonna make a fine doctor, but he’s missing his calling. This man should be a chef.”
“Ah, I’m sure the two of you will survive… somehow.” Drew’s expression turns wistful, making us all burst into laughter.
“At least Syd’s offered to bake once in a while. I’ll just have to take some of this stash home with me, so I can stay out of the cafeteria for the next week.”
DeShawn chimes in, smacking him on the back. “Don’t look at me. You know I can cook—but I’m not cooking for your sorry ass every night. Take some lessons, man. It’s not that hard.”
Grey pretends to pout, as if the situation’s hopeless.
Of course, I take pity on him, too. “Good grief, Grey. That’s pathetic. You’re welcome to come to dinner, too. Granted—you’ll have to spend time with a five-year-old who will fight you tooth and nail for the broccoli, but we can’t have you starving to death now that Drew’s leaving.”
Grey’s eyes light up, and DeShawn warns. “Oh, be careful, Vanessa. You’ve just offered to feed the stray that will never leave.”
“I do clean,” Grey offers hopefully. “I even do dishes and scrub toilets.”
Holy shit. This guy is hilarious. “You run a hard bargain,” I tease. “Here… hand me your phone. I’ll give you my number. When you’re craving a home-cooked meal, just text me, and we’ll work something out. But you get what you pay for, and you can’t complain about the company. Jules will chat your ear off.” Then I look to DeShawn. “You’re welcome to come, too. I know you all are friends with Syd. No reason now that she’s moved that you can’t stop by as well.”
All three guys look as if I’ve just offered to sacrifice a puppy.
Shit. Am I being too hospitable?
Growing up, our house was always the go-to spot for hangouts. Sure, my mom may be gone, but there’s no reason I can’t carry on the tradition. Something about these guys makes me put the offer out there. Besides, Grey’s pretty bad off if he can’t even boil water.
When none of them say anything, I quickly backpedal. “It’s just dinner. If you’re not interested, I’m not pushing it on you.”
“No,” Grey quickly interjects. “I’ll be there. I’m just shocked that you’d offer.”
Okay, then… I read that wrong.
Straightening my spine, I hold my chin up high. “Well, I just did.”
“Just did what?” Vince asks with Damien and Jules right behind him.
“I invited poor Grey and DeShawn to dinner. Did you know Grey’s not even allowed to boil water at his house? As in—he’ll burn it if he does?”
“Hey, now… it was one time,” Grey interjects.
But I ignore him. “Vin, growin’ up, our place was the spot everyone came, especially to eat. There’s no reason we can’t do that again.” Pointing at our house, I continue, “This place is plenty big enough. If Grey wants to learn to cook—we should take pity on him and help him out.”
Burying his face in his hand, Grey says, “Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?”
Vince just smiles. “Uh… she just went mama bear on you, dude. She means well… promise.”
Grey uncovers his face and looks to me. “I swear, I’m not a charity case. I buy food and clean. The cooking doesn’t always turn out so great, and it’s become the butt of most of our jokes.”
DeShawn pipes in, “He does make a mean sandwich.”
