Rate a Date by Monica Murphy Page 0,71
glad you enjoyed it. I feel like I should’ve made more.”
He munches on the bacon thoughtfully, his lips curving into a smile. “We’ll order pizza later.”
I finish my omelet and take my plate and Mitch’s back to the kitchen. He follows after me, making a tsking noise when he sees the mess I made, but he doesn’t hesitate in helping me. We both go through the various boxes stacked nearby to find kitchen towels and a scrubber to clean off the plates with before we put them in the dishwasher.
Once that’s taken care of, I rinse off the plates and pans while Mitch puts away the leftover ingredients. He’s wiping down the counters with a damp paper towel when I ask him, “Do you have dishwashing detergent?”
His expression turns sheepish. “No.”
“How about dish soap so I can hand wash everything?”
“Yeah.” He scrubs the back of his head. “I don’t think so.”
This man is clearly not domesticated.
Well, I cleaned off everything as well as I could. “You’ll need to run the dishwasher soon.”
He salutes me. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
I’m grinning as I go to him and he wraps me up in a big hug, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Thank you again for the omelet.”
“Thank you for helping me clean up,” I say as I press my cheek against his warm, solid chest.
A girl could get used to this kind of treatment.
We enter the living room and both plop down on the couch, sitting right next to each other. He grabs the controller and hits a button, and I realize the video game he was playing earlier was on pause. The volume is turned up super loud, and the room seems to rumble and shake every time a bomb goes off or a shot’s fired. The men in the game are all yelling and cursing at each other, and Mitch is sitting poised on the edge of the couch. He’s got the controller in his hand, clutching it tightly, his intense focus on the game and nothing else. I scoot away from him and grab my phone from the coffee table and start scrolling, wondering what the hell are we doing.
I mean, this isn’t so bad, hanging out together. But I thought we could actually…you know. Hang out. With each other.
Not me cooking him food and him playing video games. He helped with the kitchen so he’s not a total fail, but still. I would rather he pay attention to me versus play his video game. I’m leaving tomorrow. We’re on limited time here.
Though I guess this is what real life would be like if we were in an actual relationship, right?
Is that something I want? Frowning, I contemplate our situation. We live in different cities, so it would have to be long distance, and that’s kind of tough. I love it back home. I don’t want to leave.
Eleanor, you are clearly jumping the gun. You hardly know this guy.
Right, I tell my know-it-all inner voice. Right, right, right.
“Fucking GO!” he suddenly yells, making me jump. I rest my hand over my chest, watching as he’s tapping away at the controller, growling under his breath as his character on the video game is getting the shit shot out of him.
It’s rather violent. And excessively graphic.
He loses. It’s game over. Frustration radiates from him as he tosses the controller onto the coffee table, where it lands with a loud clatter. Glancing over at me, he offers up a grim smile before grabbing the TV controller and turns the TV and game off.
“Sorry about that,” he mutters, sounding contrite. “I paused the game so we could eat and thought I could finish it real fast. Took longer than I thought.”
I shrug. “It’s okay.” This is what men do, I suppose. Well, not all of them. But I know many of them like to get out their aggression playing violent video games. I’m not bothered by it. It’s a different side of him, and I appreciate seeing it.
Mitch contemplates me for a moment, and I want to squirm under his assessing gaze. What is he thinking about right now? What does he see when he looks at me? And does he like what he sees?
Ugh, I hate it when my old insecurities flare back up. Always at the worst times, too.
“You want to go out tonight?” he asks.
My brows shoot up. “And do what?”
“Go see a show at one of the casinos? Go to the movies? Gamble our lives away? Go to a