The Introvert's Guide to Online Dating (The Introvert's Guide 1)

Groaning, he rolled over to face me. “On the other hand, setting boundaries is very mature of us. We’ve engaged in enough miscommunication over the past few months, and if we want this to work, we have to be on the same page.”

I smiled. He was right. We’d spent weeks upon weeks having issues, especially in the past few, and it was all because neither of us had been willing to tell the other how they felt.

It was completely stupid.

“So we talk,” I said. “We don’t keep things inside. If we’re frustrated or upset, we tell each other.”

“Yes. And if we do something that the other person likes, we share that, too.”

“Like what you were doing twenty minutes ago when your face was between my legs. Big fan of that.”

“I can do that whenever you want. Again, right now, if you want.”

“It feels a little rude to turn you down, but I have to go.”

“We’re cuddling.”

“I know, but I have a very opinionated cat at home who will be wondering why there’s half an inch of bowl visible through her food. Since she already used one of my dining chairs as a sacrifice to the feline gods this week, I’d better get a move on.”

He rolled over and checked the time on the clock as I sat up. “Why don’t I come with you? I have to take you home anyway.”

“She still hates you, you know.”

“I know, but I’m going to be around, so I figure I should endear her to me now. Besides, I got the good tuna for her.”

I sighed. “You’re going to spoil her. Trust me when I say that’s very easy to do. Especially with food.”

“Excellent. Then she’ll love me.” He grinned, then paused. “Eventually.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Hey, I made it happen with you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you can’t sleep with my cat.”

“Shit.”

***

Cooking together was not necessarily the first thing that came to mind when we said we were going to spend time together.

The good tuna had successfully placated Gen long enough for her to find another sun spot—this time knocking a book onto the floor. That meant Colton and I were now standing in the kitchen, trying to figure out what the hell we were supposed to do with all the ingredients in front of us.

“I haven’t been to the store yet,” I said lamely, staring at the mismatched array of food.

Chicken. Bananas. Yoghurt. Cheese. Ground beef. A lone tomato. Three chocolate bars. A bottle of wine. And four questionable looking green grapes.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I have no idea what to do with this.”

I shook my head to say that I, too, had no idea. “We maybe should have come up with a recipe and gone to the store first.”

“We could do that now?”

“Go to the store? As our first effort to spend time together? Are you insane?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s the whole ‘where do you want to go for dinner?’ argument but on steroids. Not only do we have to come up with an idea, we have to buy it. And not buy snacks and all the other stuff that will inevitably derail us.”

“Nah, we’ll be fine. We can do this.”

“We’re going to argue by the time we walk through the front door!”

He flashed me a grin. “Return to normal, then. Come on. Put your shoes on.”

“This is going to be a disaster.” I put the things back in the fridge and followed him to the door, where I slipped on my ballet flats and headed out of the door after Colton.

I only just remembered to grab my keys.

“I want it put on record that this is a terrible idea,” I said, running down the stairs after him. “We don’t even know what we’re eating.”

“You can look in the car.”

“I left my phone inside.”

“You can use mine. Stop whining.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I don’t care.” He grinned and unlocked the truck. “Get in.”

I poked my tongue out at him, but did as I was told nonetheless and got in. “I’m choosing the recipe.”

“Fine. Just don’t make it super complicated. I’d hate to have to hit you with a pan and be implicated for your murder on the first day of our relationship.”

“Oh, no, you can’t threaten murder. That’s my job.”

“Just find a recipe and stop shouting at me.”

“I’m not shouting at you.” I took his phone. “What’s your passcode?”

“Ooh, I don’t know if I should let you do that.”

“Pass me a pan. Go on. I don’t mind being implicated.”

Colton laughed. “Three-nine-seven-one.”

“That’s the most random passcode,” I said as I typed it in.

“Nope. It’s the four corners of the keyboard.”

I repeated the pattern I’d just typed in on the air. Huh. So it was. Why did that code make so much sense?

“It’s kind of annoying that you didn’t start at one.”

“I’ll keep that mind. Have you found the internet yet?”