I snorted. “You say the sweetest things, Alek.”
He just rolled his eyes and grabbed his towel. “Come on, drama queen. Lunch?”
“Only if you’re not the one cooking.”
“You’re in my house.”
“Still counts.”
The promise of lunch was the only thing dragging me out of the gym alive.
“Shower fast,” Alek said, tossing his sweaty towel over his shoulder like a man in a deodorant commercial. “If you stink up the dining room, Amber’s gonna ban you from Sunday dinners.”
“You’re acting like she hasn’t already,” I muttered, heading toward the locker room.
Ten minutes later, I was clean, my hair still damp and doing that annoying wave thing, and Alek was already seated at our usual table in the packhouse dining hall, poking at a bowl of quinoa like it had personally offended him.
“Since when do yo
