Read Hooped #3 (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series, Book #3) for Free Online Page B

oven
underneath, revealing a cookie sheet stacked with a huge pile of French toast. He
reached up into the cupboard and took out plates, and divided up the French
toast between the two; I grinned to myself as he lifted a napkin off of a plate
that I’d seen off to the side on the counter, revealing freshly cooked bacon.
“You weren’t kidding about a feast!” I said, my eyes widening as Devon piled
both plates.
    “How do you take your coffee?” he asked me, setting
the plate down in front of me and putting his own directly across from where I
sat.
    “Milk and sugar.” Devon nodded and extracted a pair of
mugs out of the cupboard, pouring and doctoring the coffee quickly. I noticed
that he took sugar but no milk in his, and smiled to myself. As he put the milk back into the fridge, he took out a
bottle of maple syrup, along with a container of orange juice. “Wow,” I said,
shaking my head in disbelief. “This is as good as I could get at a restaurant.”
Devon laughed, pouring glasses of juice and setting them on the table before he
sat down.
    “I like cooking,” he said, shrugging off my praise.
“Ever since I started really being serious about basketball, I knew I needed to
cook for myself. I figured if I was going to be eating it, it might as well
taste good.” I nodded, smiling, and bit into a piece of bacon; it was just the
way I liked it: crispy but not burned, with just a little bit of chewiness to
it.
    “How did you go about learning?” I asked. I knew how
to cook somewhat—but of course, I lived in the dorms, where there was no real
way to cook anything that couldn’t go in a microwave or a toaster oven.
    “I asked my mom!” Devon said, chuckling as he dug into
his French toast. “I also watched a bunch of cooking shows. There’s one I still
really like, with this guy Alton Brown. Good
Eats . He goes and explains why you do things a certain way, with chemical
reactions and shit, it’s great.”
    “I think I caught an episode of that once,” I said.
“Doesn’t he use weird stuff like power tools and things?” Devon nodded.
    “He has this episode where he cooks in one of those
clay plant pots. It’s insane—and it totally works.” I took a bite of my French
toast; buttery syrup, vanilla, and cinnamon filled my mouth, and I nearly
moaned at how good it tasted.
    “Oh my god, Dev,” I said as soon as I swallowed. “This
is better than my mom’s French toast, and she’s the queen of breakfast food.”
Devon smiled, his dark eyes lighting up.
    “I’m glad you like it, Jenny,” he said, giving me a
playful grin for the use of the nickname I hated. “Eat up—you’ve got class .” As we both devoured our breakfasts, we
chatted, comparing our class schedules, talking about events around campus.
Devon asked me if I was planning on joining any clubs, if I wanted to join any
of the sororities. It felt so comfortable, just sitting in the kitchen, eating
and talking; it was so real, so basic—something I had never known I’d missed
until I had it.
    “Usually I just grab something from the dining hall, a
sandwich or some fruit and coffee,” I said, cleaning up the last of the syrup
on my plate with a piece of already soggy French toast. “I’m going to be in a food coma all through class now.”
    “You can afford it,” Devon said, rolling his eyes and
grinning. “I think you’re probably the smartest person I know.”
    “I am not,” I protested. “Besides, you barely know me.
I’m a good student, but I’m not brilliant. Now my friend Ashley—she’s
genius-level. Doesn’t even have to study anything.” Devon asked about my friends, and I told him about everyone in the
group, except for Kelly. I couldn’t bring
myself to tell him about the fact that the girl who had claimed to be my best
friend had been his ex, and the girl who had grabbed him after the game days
before. I put Kelly out of my mind as completely as possible, focusing on my
other friends, telling him about