Letting You In

Odd Habits - /8

"I'd say it's a bit late for cooking."

I twirl around, almost dropping the knife. I take out my AirPods, blush when I see Nick leaning against the wall. "I thought your game would end later", I say, placing the knife on the cutting board.

He shakes his head and walks over to me. He looks over my shoulder to see what I'm preparing. Pasta salad with tomatoes and mozzarella. "They always end around this time." He smirks and leans against the counter. "You would know that would you ever go to a game."

"Well,", I take the knife and continue cutting the tomatoes. "You were the one who said I should only come when you've been playing for a while."

"True." Nick takes a cup out of the cupboard and fills it with water. "But you really should've gone to some games all the other seasons."

"Yeah, but I didn't."

"Yeah, cause you're too busy dancing and singing with a freaking knife in your hand." He points to the knife with his cup. When I look at him, he shrugs with his shoulders and drinks half the water. "I'm just saying. You could hurt yourself."

Without thinking about it, I point at him with the knife. "All these years I've never hurt myself doing it. I'd only hurt myself, when some guy walks in and scares me."

Nick smirks. "That's a bit extreme, don't you think? I think hurting the intruder is more effective, than being even more of a victim."

I turn back to cut the cheese into slices. "Oh, I'm the victim now? Remember, I'm the one with the knife."

"The knife that you wanna use to hurt yourself, not the guy coming in."

Again, I use the knife to point at him. Nick lifts his hands, and steps back. "Yeah, never mind that. I'm sure you'll be fine hurting the guy with the knife too."

I smirk. "That's what I thought." Slide both the cheese and the tomatoes into a bowl. "How was the game?"

"We lost in OT. How was your day though?"

While I rinse the knife under the water, I also check the timer on my phone. The pasta is almost done. "Alright, I guess. Just went to class, so nothing exciting." I put the knife on a dirty plate, before I also rinse the cutting board.

"What class did you have?"

"It's called Classical Tradition in Modern Literature. Not my favorite course to be honest." I stack all dirty dishes, before I fill up my own cup of water and mimic Nick by leaning against the counter.

"It does sound interesting though. Not that I would take it myself, but it sounds good."

"Well, we have to read old texts. Like from ancient Greece or Rome, and I really don't enjoy that."

Nick places his cup beside him. "Yeah, okay. That doesn't sound like that much fun. What other courses do you take this semester?", he asks as he walks to his hockey bag.

"I have one course that's kinda about how Boston is shown in texts, which is fun. And then another course that's kinda looking at the history of black feminism. So those two are quite okay."

Nick nods. He's leaned his sticks against the wall next to the door. He opens his bag, and takes out his jersey, socks, and all the other stuff that needs to be washed and throws it next to the laundry basket. "Would you consider yourself a feminist?", he briefly looks up, as he takes the bag and walks to the bathroom.

"Not sure. I always think 'feminist' sounds like an activist or something, but I wouldn't say I'm an activist. I don't know. I just want women to be treated equally, you know?" I take another look at the time, stop it, and place my cup on the counter. "Would you say you're one?"