“The lasagnas,” he says, pointing toward the kitchen.
“Oh. No.” I shake my head. “That’s just…” My stress release and how I avoid my thoughts and feelings when I don’t want to address them. “A hobby.”
“Your hobby’s making enough lasagna to feed all of Oleander Springs?”
I press my lips together, realizing five lasagnas might have been overdoing it. “I couldn’t get the sauce right. It was too sweet, and then too bitter.”
“So that’s why they’re numbered.”
I nod.
“Did you figure it out?”
“Not yet. The acidity is still off.”
He takes a step back, widening the gap between us that has me regretting the briefness of our visit before the reminder of relief tries to slink into my thoughts.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, taking that same step he just lost, gaining a couple of inches. “Your sister mentioned you pulled a prank… That gift you sent…”
“Oh, yeah.” I’m amazed that’s what he remembers from that conversation, considering the only detail I recall is Lanie comparing Nolan to Chris Hemsworth. “My brother-in-law and I have kind of been in a prank war for the past five-ish years.”
Nolan’s eyes round and grow bright as his lips tip upward, causing the slight lines around his mouth to become more prominent.
God, his jaw and mouth should be criminal.
“A prank war?” he asks, taking another step. “What kind of pranks?” Intrigue flashes in his eyes, and I hate how predictably I respond. My heart races and my smile immediately works to match his.
“Nothing too crazy. Mentos in a soda lid, caramel onions … that kind of thing.”
“What did you send him?”
“Just a joke.”
“About?”
I shake my head, unable to answer this question without potentially sounding creepy or weird.
He motions between us with his finger, and once again I’m admiring another part of him that I rarely consider in another person. He has great hands. Long, wide, tanned fingers, thick knuckles, and prominent veins. “We could make this interesting.”
My thoughts are going in every direction except for the one he’s trekking down. I’m sure of it. “Sorry?”
“Just for fun. Something to break up the monotony of this place.”
I think I draw back. Maybe I flinch. His words have me thinking about stereotyped jocks again, about him assuming we’re dull because we work hard in school and don’t party every night, as he likely does. “I’m sorry we bore you.”
“It wasn’t meant to be a dig. It’s not personal, I just mean,this. School. Practice. School. Practice. School. Practice. It could be fun to add a little diversity. A challenge.”
“By pranking each other?”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you just stepped in a pile of dog shit infested with larvae and are trying to describe it.”
I cringe. I’m pretty sure my cringe cringes. “Oh, that’s graphic.”
“Come on. I’m not coming on to you if that’s what you’re worried about. I just … Hudson’s the captain of our team this year, and he gets a little bent out of shape when we pull pranks on the freshmen, and this would be tame. Mild. No injuries, no stolen cars.”