Page 162 of The Night Shift
“Chinese takeout.”
“My bad, let me amend my question. How old is this?”
“Okay, there’s no need to be a pretentious prick.” I snatch the box from his hands and glance inside. The noodles are stiff, clumped together in an oily, frozen block and there’s…something white creeping along the edges.
“And here you thoughtIwas going to poison you.” He turns around and uses a red oven mitt to pull out a tray of roasted bell peppers stuffed with cheese. He plates one and sets it in front of me with a fork. “Eat.”
I glance at the mini bell pepper, then at him. “You can cook?”
“What do you think ‘let me cook for you’ means?”
“I…I don’t know. I thought you were going to order a pizza or something.”
“And then poison it?”
“Yeah.”
He nudges the plate closer. “Go on. I’m dying to hear how horrible it tastes.”
I grab the fork and stab it right in the center. The skin gives easily, soft from roasting, the cheese inside still warm and gooey as I lift it to take a bite.
I instantly regret my decision.
Not because I’m annoyed at how good it is. It’s not good. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. I’d rather eat the moldy noodles. The texture is all wrong. The pepper is weirdly slimy, the cheese has this grainy, almost chalky consistency, and there’s an overpowering hit of something sour — lemon, maybe? It coats my tongue unpleasantly, and for a split second, I consider spitting it out.
But Theo is watching me.
His eyes are fixed on mine, waiting, expectant like a puppy waiting to be told he’s a good boy. I can see it in his face. He wants me to like it. He made this for me. And the absolute worst part? Some part of me, some deeply buried, pathetic part, doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. I hate that part. I want to stab that part.
I force myself to swallow, ignoring the way the cheese sticks to the roof of my mouth. “Mmm…so good.”
Theo grins, pleased with himself. “Yeah?”
I nod and take a long, desperate sip of my wine to wash the taste away.
“Would you like some music?” He’s already making his way to the living room, practically skipping.
He sets his wine glass down on a coaster, lifts the glass cover of a record player, and pulls out a red vinyl from a case below.
Something soft and instrumental starts to play. Theo takes his wine and sinks into the couch. Then, with zero hesitation, he hooks his leg around mine and yanks me down beside him.
“Stop that.” I smack his foot and scoot a few inches away, but he’s still smiling, smug and entirely too pleased with himself.
The song keeps playing. I sip my wine. Theo keeps looking at me. It’s unsettling.
I narrow my eyes. “Okay, what’s the deal here? What do you want?”
His eyes stay on me. “I already have it.”
I set my glass down. “No, I mean why’d you call me here?”
His brow furrows slightly, like he genuinely doesn’t understand the question. “For dinner.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And dessert if you’re feeling up for it?”
A long pause. “Wait. You actually just invited me here fordinner?”
