Page 101 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
ChapterTwenty-Nine
WHITNEY
There are enough ingredients to make fried chicken. I start making dinner around five. I’m in the middle of cracking eggs into a shallow bowl when Trev comes into the kitchen. The other guys are out helping Melanie’s mates install a pergola in the middle of the yard so she can have a rocking chair under it. They’ve been at it for a few hours now, and once the cursing started, I promptly removed myself from the area. Sometimes men get so angry about building things.
“Do you need help?” Trev asks.
I toss the egg shells and wash my hands, eyeing him. He’s not as sweaty as I’d expect, and he’s looking rather hopeful.
“You can peel the potatoes and then start on the corn.”
“Okay.” He grabs a peeler from a drawer and sets to work.
I return to my side of the counter and mix up the dry batter. A little flour and panko bread crumbs. We only ever had flour growing up, but sometimes Granny would make dinner for me and she always used panko.
“Would you rather have white wine or red wine for the rest of your life?” Trev asks suddenly.
“Uh, red.” I’ve only had some cheap wine, but the white is usually overly sweet, like a juice box.
“Hm. No chardonnay?”
“I’ve never had it,” I confess, grabbing the chicken from the fridge.
“I usually drink beer, but on hot summer nights a nice cold glass of chardonnay is amazing.”
“Okay.” I try not to sound rude, but I’m a little thrown by his sudden change. I don’t want him to go back to being an asshole, but at least I know what to expect with that version of Trev.
Laying the chicken out on the cutting board, I butterfly the breasts and cut them into smaller chunks. I set the knife down and frown a little. I don’t remember being taught to make this. But somehow, I know how. I’ve made more than enough to have it down. I pinch my eyebrows together and wash my hands again before seasoning the chicken with salt and pepper.
I’m used to missing memories. I remind myself my entire childhood was a shit show and there’s no reason to try and figure out why this particular piece is blank. It’s never good when I dive down into those moments that my mind has locked away.
“Mountains or the ocean?”
“Both,” I say absentmindedly. It’s too early to start the chicken. I grab a big pot and fill it with water, standing next to Trev, who is busy peeling the last potato.
“Good choice. Never been?”
I shake my head.
“I think I like the mountains better. I’ve only seen the ocean once, but the water was freezing and it was too windy.”
Is he trying to make me feel bad? Maybe this is a game called: tell the poor omega everything she’s missed outon.
“Summer or winter?”
I jerk the faucet to the off position and level him with a look. “What are you doing?”
The potato almost slips from his hand, but he catches it. “Making conversation…” He trails off awkwardly.
“Why?”
“Do you want me to be rude?”
“No, this is just different.”
“Well, I’m trying to make up for being a jerk.” He gives me a devastating grin. “I was a grade-A asshole.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, you were.”
