Page 75 of The Pass Protection
Nina returned with hot plates of pasta, and we thanked her. We both unwrap the paper ring on the napkin and pull out our forks. I cut into the oversized square-shaped layered pasta. Melty cheese hangs from where I pull the forkful from the rest of the dish. Steam pours from my fork as I bring it toward my mouth and continuously blow, hoping to cool the pasta down. Crew, on the other hand….
“Oh my gosh,” he mumbles, trying to cool hismouth. “It’s so hot.”
Soft giggles escape. “She said it just came from the oven.”
Risking a bite, I place a mouthful of the pasta, meat, and tomato sauce mixture onto my tongue and moan as the flavors hit my tastebuds. I watch as Crew reaches for his Coke. With a swallow, I see moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes. He places his fork on his plate while reaching for another breadstick. I shake my head as I watch the trainwreck before me.
“Will you be able to go home for Thanksgiving?”
He shakes his head no as he rips off a piece of bread. “It’s a lot to travel back and forth when we have the big game the Saturday after.”
The big game is what college football has dubbed the rivalry between CTU and Lafayette. Both teams and their fans absolutely hate each other. I’m excited to attend my first rivalry game. I’ve always watched it on TV from Arizona. Now, this year, I’ll get to feel the atmosphere of hatred as the desire to win swirls in the air.
“Would you, um, like to come home with me for Thanksgiving?” I hesitantly ask.
“I go every year.” He smirks, his fork hanging from his hands.
My mouth flies open. “Shut up!”
He chuckles. “Yeah, Rebel, your mom makes mean pies.”
“Oh my god, her pecan pie.”
“Forget the nuts, give me the pumpkin.” Crew scoops another forkful. “The guys and I all ride up together.”
“That’s so cool.”
“Yeah, we’re really fortunate your mom does this.”
Every year for Thanksgiving, my parents open the house to anyone on the football team who would like to come and have a home-cooked meal. She and my dad, with the help of some family, cook the entire meal. She said it wouldn’t be a home-cooked meal if she ordered catering.
“Controversial topic…” I trail off, letting the suspense build. “What’s your favorite Thanksgiving food?”
“Easy. Green bean casserole.”
“No way!”
“Is that your favorite too?”
I shake my head. “Second favorite. Sweet potatoes are my favorite, but only the ones roasted in a skillet with butter with spoonfuls of brown sugar melted on top.”
“God, those sound delicious.”
“They do.” I lean back from the table and play with the napkin resting in my lap. “Although the thought of food right now.” I shiver.
“That was the best lasagna I’ve ever had.” His eyes snap to mine, panic evident. “Don’t tell my mom that.”
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
Reaching across the table, I place my hand on top of his. He flips his hand over and laces our fingers together.
Nina dropped off the check after asking about our meal, which we gushed over. Twisting, I reach for my purse. “Bret Addison Campbell, don’t you dare reach for your wallet.”
A thrill runs through me at his harsh voice. Something about it elicits fire straight to my core.
“You know I can contribute to our dates, too.”
“I know you’re capable, but my mother would rip me a new one if she knew I didn’t treat my woman.”
