Page 60 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
ChapterNineteen
WHITNEY
Despite being stuck inside a house, time flies. The late afternoon arrives quickly. Avi made us big salads for lunch, but my stomach grumbles with hunger. I place my hand over it, shooting Avi a worried look. We’ve moved on from Bob Ross to a house renovation show, and the hosts are busy planning out a new floor design for their newest project.
“Do you like Indian food?”
I’ve never had enough money to eat out. “I don’t know,” I confess. “I’m not a picky eater though.”
“I’m craving rogan josh.” He glances at the ticking clock on the wall. “We’d have to start now. Are you up for trying something new?” He turns the TV off and brushes some of his black hair out of his face.
“Only if I can help make it.” I don’t want to owe these guys more than I already do. If he’s going to make dinner, I’m going to contribute.
“It’s really a one-person job,” he says with a gentle smile.
“I can help. I’ll cut up the meat.”
“I’ll cut up the lamb. You can make the rice.”
“Okay,” I say instead.
We head into the kitchen. Avi puts on a rock station and gets to work. He pulls out a round machine. It’s not a crockpot, but it sort of looks like one. I wait for instructions, watching as he pulls out ingredients and lays them on the counter.
He hands me a measuring cup. “You’ll need that.” Singing along with the song, he moves to the cabinet on the far right. He grabs a container of rice and sets it next to me on the counter.
“Have you ever made rice before?”
“My mom used to have the instant kind that cooked in under a minute.”
Avi balks. “Okay, well, let me show you how it’s really done.” He opens the machine. “This is a rice cooker, and it’s about to be your new best friend. You’ll need two cups of rice,” he says, pointing to the container.
I measure the rice and dump it into the container.
“And four cups of water.”
“That’s a lot of liquid,” I mumble, watching him fill two bigger measuring cups to pour in.
“That’s what it takes. Close the lid and hit cook.”
I do as he says. “Is that it?”
“You’re a true chef now.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Now go relax while I get the rest ready. Do you want a drink?”
“Yes.” I glance away before he can see how eager I am for alcohol. It’s probably better if I don’t drink, but I’m not going to worry about what I should and shouldn’t do. Trev’s hospitality—if you can even call it that—is on a timer. So is my freedom.
“There’s beer, vodka, gin, and I think Asher hid some whiskey in his room, but if you ask me nicely, I’ll go find it for you.”
I chuckle. “That’s okay. I’m good with vodka. Do you have any club soda?” Aside from shots, that’s about the only way I know how to mix it. I don’t tell Avi that though, he likely already thinks I’m pathetic with my instant rice upbringing.
“Yup. The lower cabinet next to the fridge has all the stuff you need. Ice is in the freezer. I can make you a martini later if you want, maybe after dinner?”
“That sounds amazing.”
He hands me a cup. Squatting down, I open the cabinet and stare at a very full liquor shelf. It takes a moment to spot the vodka. They don’t buy the cheap stuff, that’s for sure. I grab it and a club soda bottle and busy myself with preparing my drink while Avi works on the lamb.
I sip on the drink, taking a seat at the bar and watching Avi work. The carbonation fizzes on my tongue and the vodka is smoother than what I’m used to. Avi chops like a madman, and before I know it, the lamb is cut. He pulls out a pot and adds something that looks like butter, turning on the stove to melt it.
“What’s that?”
