Spring Fling (Dating Season Book 1) by Laurelin Paige (novel24 .TXT) 📗

put up a table of my own, instead of just critiquing all the shabby pottery from other artists. But hey, judging is half the fun.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know if it would sell.”

“What do you want to sell?” Finn asks.

“Well, I have a whole vision of my products.” I tell him all about my plans for Mae’d With Love. My wares will consist of a variety of handmade and hand-painted kitchen items. Each will include a recipe, printed on a keepsake recipe card, from Granny Mae’s delicious and extensive repertoire.

Pie plates for her heavenly lemon pie.

Serving bowls for her creamy mashed potatoes.

I’ll start small and then expand into dishes, mugs, platters. She has a million recipes, and I have a million ideas.

“I like it, babe.” He kisses my forehead. “You’re cute. All that talk of food made me hungry.” He looks over at the nearby dining area. “Want to grab something to eat?”

I’m not sure what I was expecting or if I’m expecting too much, but I’m cute? Austin said my plan was brilliant, not that I’m comparing. I’m totally comparing, and need to stop. I shrug off his lackluster reply and agree.

Our group crosses to the concession window where a smiling brunette takes our order. When she hands Finn a number, he says, “Thanks, babe.”

My gaze shoots to him. Hm. Okay. It never crossed my mind that babe could be a general term he used. It’s like my grandmother calling everyone “hun.” I’m not sure how I feel about this discovery. Well, I am. I just don’t want to admit my disappointment that I’m not special.

When we have our food, we join Austin and Charlotte at a picnic table. While I stew on the fact my endearment was not in fact an endearment, Finn pulls something from his pocket. I’m praying it’s not another paintbrush.

“While you were looking at the garden stuff, I got this for you.” He hands me a palm-sized stone, painted with a dandelion and the word wish. “I thought with the whole rock thing, you’d like it.”

My chest clenches, and the babe thing is no longer important. Just look at this. “It’s so perfect. Thank you.”

“That’s pretty sweet, Finn,” Charlotte says. “Mine needs to up his game before the wedding.”

Finn asks when the big day is and as Charlotte gives him the details, my phone vibrates.

That’s cute and all, but your boyfriend should only be calling you babe. I look up and meet Austin’s dark stare before he’s drawn into their conversation.

When Charlotte brings up moving out, Austin mentions he still needs a new roommate. And then, like a clown rolling up to a party, the worst thing happens.

“Oh, yeah? I’m in the market,” Finn says. “Ideally, I’d like to buy a place, but I might be interested.”

I almost choke on my fry. I make a mental note, in bold letters, to talk him out of that idea. There definitely won’t be any getting over Austin if my boyfriend is sleeping in his house.

Not that Finn is my boyfriend. Not that I want him to be my boyfriend. Not that I know what I want at all.

But, really, does anybunny?

Eight

“Dating is about finding out who you are and who others are. If you show up in a masquerade outfit, neither is going to happen.”— Henry Cloud, How to Get a Date Worth Keeping

You’re a wise one, Henry. I bookmark the site, so I can come back later. My boyfriend is here. A few days ago, at a celebration after his SuperFit competition, Finn introduced me as his girlfriend to a competitor. So it’s official; we’re a couple. Dating advice is now a thing of the past. I’ve graduated to relationship articles, and the site I’m on says couples who cuddle together, stay together. Tonight we’re going to watch a show, because I can’t even imagine going out with my quads like this.

When I open the door, Finn, glorious against the backdrop of a tangerine and violet sky, frowns. “You aren’t dressed.”

I glance down at my joggers and T-shirt. I did indeed remember pants. So… “I’m dressed.”

He steps inside. “You’re wearing pajamas?”

“Lounge wear.”

“How fast can you get ready?”

“Like…making popcorn ready? I didn’t think you’d want any.”

He chuckles. “Like clothes. For the show we’re going to?”

Ah, it appears there’s been a misunderstanding about the type of show. “It’s um”—I wink—“like Netflix-and-chill kind of show.”

Emphasis on the “chill” part. Finn and I haven’t had sex since the blue balls. The taxing mental preparation for the SuperFit competition apparently required no surplus energy be expelled in bedroom activities. After he won, I thought he’d throw me over his shoulder caveman style. I was wrong. Once the celebration ended, he needed to rest his muscles.

“Sitting around all night?” he asks. “That’s not really my vibe.”

It’s my whole vibe, so that’s concerning.

I follow him into the living room. “It’ll be romantic.”

“Babydoll.”

Since we’re now a couple, I’m babydoll. So there was no misunderstanding, I clarified this is a true pet name.

“You’ve been home all day,” he says. “Let’s go out. It’s good to be flexible.”

His boyish grin doesn’t make a dent in my staying-in-tonight armor. I’ve gone with him to work out three times a week. That’s six times in two weeks. That’s more than I’ve done in my entire life. Plus, I’ve given up pasta. We never have dinner dates at Italian places, because his macro count rules his meal choices.

I’m definitely flexible.

I even look the other way when he gets more waxes than I do, so no hair will distract from the clean lines of his muscles. And let’s not forget the couple’s tanning date last week. The least romantic thing ever. I have zero desire for couple’s melanoma later on. I tipped my girl twenty dollars I couldn’t afford to not turn my bed on.

I even decided to queue up Jack Ryan for tonight so that Finn won’t have to suffer through deciphering the Letterkenny jokes my friends and I favor.