Page 16 of Don't Fall for the Goalie
Daltyn glances down. “Yeah. Rossi’s is good.”
“You’ve eaten there before?”
“Connor dragged me there once after practice.”
“That sentence sounds like a threat.”
“It was.”
I laugh softly.
God. It feels weirdly normal talking to him like this. Like we weren’t tangled up in hurricanes, Vegas chaos, psycho exes, and whatever this thing simmering between us is.
Daltyn starts ordering on his phone while I watch.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
His eyes flick up briefly. “Online ordering exists, Peyton.”
“Look at you being technologically advanced.”
“I’m a professional athlete, not a caveman.”
“Debatable.”
His mouth twitches again. “What do you want?”
“I can’t decide.”
“You looked at the menu for ten minutes.”
That’s an exaggeration. It hasn’t even been five.
“And every option sounds good.”
He stares at me for a beat before nodding once and returning to his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Ordering.”
“Daltyn.”
No answer.
A few minutes later, he sets the phone down.
“What did you order?”
“Lasagna. Fettuccine Alfredo. Spaghetti. Salad. Garlic bread.”
My eyes widen. “That’s enough food to feed a hockey team.”
“We’ll have leftovers.”
“You’re completely unbothered by spending that much money on pasta?”
His brows pull together like the thought genuinely confuses him. “Should I be?”
