Once Upon A Half-Time: A Sports Romance - Sosie Frost Page 0,31

down. “That’s different.”

“So you won’t eat mac and cheese?”

Sebastian didn’t seem as distressed as his brother. “Can I play on your phone?”

“Let’s feed you first.”

Now he groaned. “But I’m bored.”

Lachlan returned to the fridge. “And I’m hungry. But I don’t have much. I’m cutting now, not eating carbs or sugar.”

Ew. I scrunched my nose. “Sounds like a boring dinner date.”

“For you, I’d cheat.” He winked. “Besides, you’d help me work off the calories after dinner. Couple special exercises.”

Sebastian tilted his head. “What kind of exercises?”

“Yeah, Lachlan,” I said. “How did you plan to exercise?”

“A vigorous game of tag.” He pointed at me. “And I’d be chasing you. A lot.”

“Sure I couldn’t outrun you?”

“I’d love to try.”

“I’ll play tag!” Sebastian slapped Lachlan’s arm. “You’re—”

He caught the rug-rat before he bolted out of the kitchen. Sebastian groaned, but Lachlan plunked his butt on the stool.

“Want a salad?” Lachlan asked.

“No.”

“Why? It’s good for you. Lots of vegetables.”

Sebastian faked gagging, cupping his throat. “I don’t like veggietables.”

“That’s crazy, little man. You gotta eat your veggies.”

“Why?”

“So you can grow up big and strong.”

“Why?”

“So you can play football one day.”

Sebastian’s toothy grin matched Lachlan’s. “Why?”

“So you can make lots of money and be a tight-end like me.”

“Why?”

Oh, this could go on all night. “Show him your muscles, Charming. That’ll convince him.”

Lachlan nudged Sebastian. “She wants to see how strong we are. Show her your muscles.”

They both grunted, flexing their arms and curling their biceps with a roar.

“Very impressive,” I said.

“I got nothing on the little man.” Lachlan pointed at the kid. “How about spaghetti?”

“Yeah!” Sebastian forgot himself and actually agreed, though he was careful to warn his brother of his preferences. “But not the stuff from a jar.”

“What?”

“The sauce from the jar. It smells like Uncle Bowie.”

I hid my smirk. “And what does Uncle Bowie smell like?”

“Bad,” Sebastian said. “Like Lachlan’s stinky feet!”

Lachlan sighed. “It’s true. Genetic condition.”

“Your feet or Uncle Bowie’s smell?”

“Wanna give me a foot rub and find out?”

“After you make us spaghetti so we don’t die of hunger.”

Lachlan shrugged. “With what? All I have is a jar of the smelly feet sauce. What about a grilled cheese, Bast?”

“I want spaghetti.”

“Of course you do.” He looked at me. “Do you know how to make spaghetti?”

“Uh…” I checked my phone, typing in a generic search for any homemade marinara sauce. “Maybe we can fake it.”

“Let’s get this straight right now,” Lachlan said. “No woman has ever faked anything with me.”

“A bold claim.”

“Help me make the spaghetti, and I’ll prove it.”

“I don’t know…” I paused over a recipe that didn’t look too complicated. “That’s a pretty big favor.”

“You should know I’m a very gracious host.”

“That I seem to remember.”

Sebastian groaned and tipped over his salt shaker. “I’m hungry. Can I have the sketti please?”

“Coming right up, little man. Right, Elle?”

“First time for everything,” I said. “See if you can’t find garlic and an onion.”

His personal chef deserved a raise. Lachlan found a heavy yellow onion and a head of garlic from his pantry, and I returned with two cans of tomatoes.

Sebastian amused himself on Lachlan’s phone as we stared at the ingredients on the cutting board.

“We need to chop this onion,” I said.

“Can’t be that hard.”

“Where are your knives?”

An excellent question. Lachlan rubbed the scruff on his chin.

“Well…” He opened a couple drawers and peeked in a cupboard. “Here’s the thing. I just moved in here. Like, the day before training camp.”

“And?”

“Well, I haven’t spent a lot of time here.”

“And?”

“My chef brings his own knives.”

“You don’t have your own cutlery?”

“Um…” He searched through the drawers before pulling a bag of plastic utensils. “Here!”

Fantastic.

I tested the knife on the onion. No dice. Literally. The little teeth of the butter knife wouldn’t cut through the skin.

Lachlan pulled a plastic fork from the bag. “Lemme try. You’ll need some muscle.”

He gripped the onion in one hand. With the other, he launched for the flesh, stabbing through the onion with the tines of the fork like a meth-head vampire-slayer aiming for the kill.

“Muscle?” I ducked out of the way as a hunk of dripping onion hurled through the air, smacked the fridge, and tumbled to the floor. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

He stabbed again, pulverizing the inside of the onion. The bulb shredded, but it spit. A glob of onion juice spurted directly into Lachlan’s eye.

He sputtered, clutching his face. “Jesus—”

I interrupted him. “There’s a child!”

“Crickets.”

Sebastian laughed. “I don’t want to eat crickets!”

Lachlan blinked with a hiss. “We’re about to eat you for dinner if you don’t