He nodded. “And what if your parents check on you?”
“They never check on me. They know it’s my time, and they respect that,” she said. “Now, if I don’t come home when I’m supposed to, that’s another story.”
He nodded. “How much time?”
“A lot,” she replied, grinning.
He pointed to the groceries. “What do you have going on in there?”
“A bunch of baking supplies. I figured you didn’t have Crisco or baking powder.”
He shook his head. “How can you bake but not cook? Isn’t it just following the directions?”
“That’s the weird thing about it. I can follow a cookie recipe all day long, but making a dinner dish? Forget about it. I served undercooked chicken one time. God, Caroline got soooo sick. And that was the end of that. So, now I’m in charge of desserts only.”
She plopped on the couch. He joined her.
“You didn’t cut into it to make sure?” he asked.
“It was all about presentation. I didn’t want the chicken to look butchered,” she explained.
“And how long was Caroline sick?”
“About four days. I still feel terrible about it,” Regan confessed. “She kept saying, ‘Why, Regan, why?’ in this really pathetic, dramatic voice, and it broke my heart every time.”
Jeremy chuckled. He could picture Caroline doing exactly that.
“Hey,” Regan whispered.
“Hmm?”
“I’ve never been here before,” she replied. “You wanna take me for a tour?”
Jeremy scanned the room. “Well, there’s this,” he said, waving his hands around. “And there’s that,” he said, pointing to the kitchen and hallway.
She giggled. “I’m being serious.”
“You just wanna see my bedroom,” he said, nudging her arm playfully.
“How dare you! I’m a lady.”
He raised an eyebrow and muttered, “You weren’t a lady the other day . . .”
“Jeremy!” She smacked his arm.
“Ouch! I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’.”
She laughed. “I explained it all to you. Hello? Remember the not-acting-appropriately-when-you-finally-get-what-you-want thing?”
“Oh, I remember,” he said.
“You’re just trying to embarrass me,” Regan huffed.
“Is it working?”
She pointed. “You see my face?”
Beet red. He laughed.
“I’ll take you for a tour, but it’s not much.”
“It’s your very own apartment,” Regan countered. “That’s a lot.”
He considered this. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
He grabbed her hand and hauled her to her feet.
“Living room,” he said, and led her to the kitchen.
He watched her poke about the tiny space, searching his food stash. She settled on a bag of Oreos and held it up to him, asking the unspoken question.
“Only three because they’re my favorite,” he said.
She shoved a cookie in her mouth and resumed her investigation.
“Don’t eat this,” she mumbled with a full mouth, holding out a box to him. “It’s shit.”
“But it’s easy. A ready-made dinner,” he argued.
“It’s a bunch of processed garbage,” she replied. “I don’t think any of the ingredients are real. Stick to clean foods as much as possible.”
He shook his head. “You’re shoving Oreos in your face, and you wanna talk to me about eating healthy?”
She turned and smiled, then bit into her fourth cookie.
“That’s exactly right.”
He laughed. “You have cookie all in your teeth.”
“Is it sexy?” she asked, smiling demurely.
“So hot,” Jeremy replied.
“You got any milk?”
“Hmm. Maybe.” He placed his hand on the fridge handle, then paused. “I don’t know. Milk’s expensive.”
Her eyes went wide. “Jeremy, give me your milk.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Jeremy!”
“I thought you wanted to see my apartment.”
“You don’t want me to rinse this out first?” she asked, exposing her teeth and moving her finger back and forth in front of them.
“I already told you I thought it was hot.”
“Ha ha, now will you please give me something to drink? If I’d have known you were so stingy with your milk, I wouldn’t have bothered to bring over baking supplies. We can’t eat cake without milk.”
“Cake?” His eyes lit up.
“I know you like it.”
He poured her a glass of milk. “Red velvet?”
“Yep.” She gulped the milk then let out a satisfied sigh.
“Like, from scratch?”
“That’s how I bake.”
“Oh, wow. I thought I wanted to spend all my time with you back there—” He pointed to his bedroom. “—but not anymore. Made-from-scratch red velvet cake trumps that.”
Regan snickered. “Gee, thanks.”
“Come on,” he said, grabbing her hand once more.
He allowed her to linger in the bathroom doorway for a moment, but he wouldn’t let her search the room like she’d done his kitchen. Toiletries were private. Plus, he didn’t want her stumbling upon his box of condoms. Totally premature to think that far in advance, but after Regan’s “Make me come!” comment, he thought there could be some chance in the near future. Maybe.
He grinned.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
“The way I think sometimes.”
She eyed him curiously. “You won’t elaborate, will you?”
“No, because you’ll take it all the wrong way,” he said.
“Will I?”
He nodded.
Silence.
“You have condoms in this bathroom, don’t you?” she asked after a moment.
His eyes bugged.
Regan smirked. “You know, just in case.”
His mouth dropped open.
“Because of my ‘make me come’ comment the other day. You just wanted to be prepared, right?” she elaborated.
“Get out of my head!” Jeremy cried. “And my bathroom!”
He pulled her along to the bedroom, replaying his recent thoughts to the melody of her laughter, wondering if he didn’t actually say them aloud. How did she know? How on earth could she know? And then he remembered that she was Regan. Clever. Sharp. Too sharp, and he wondered how he could possibly keep up.
“I’m not having sex until I’m married,” Regan said.