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Cam moved up beside me, taking the plates, inviting me to fill them up.
"And don't worry, yes, I will still have room for brownies after this. I am starting to regret wearing these jeans," I added as I placed the garlic bread on a separate plate to bring over to the coffee table where Cam was already setting out our plates, shuffling my music pages together and piling them next to the TV. At his drawn-together brows, I added, "They don't have a lot of give."
Cam reached for his phone.Go slip into something more comfortable. The food will keep for a minute.Something in me thrilled at that particular turn of phrase even though I knew he didn't mean it the way I wanted to take it. But I went ahead and took his advice, rushing off to pull on a pair of black leggings before joining him on the couch.
I thought, for a brief second, that he had maybe been eyeing up my legs and ass as I turned. But I quickly squashed that down, deciding to take it for what it most likely was. Wishful thinking. I seemed to be getting good at that.
For the majority of the movie, we simply sat there in silence. Yes, even me. But likely only because I kept my mouth stuffed with food the entire time.
Besides, I was really into the movie.
By the end, I decided that whodunits might also be a new favorite of mine.
"Okay, so... I need a list of all your favorite whodunits because that was amazing. I had no idea who it was. Are they always like that? I mean, of course they are, right? Otherwise, what is the point? No one wants to sit through a two-hour movie if they know the bad guy from day one."You might be surprised. Sometimes they're good even if you do know who the bad guy is. Silence of the Lambs, for example. The baked ziti was fucking amazing, by the way.I wondered if he could tell by looking at me that my belly flipped at the compliment, that a warm unfurling sensation bloomed across my chest.
I'd always been easy to read. It was a flaw that had always bothered me. Somehow, though, a part of me wanted him to see it, wanted him to know I didn't mean a word about wanting to be friendly neighbors with him.
I wanted more.
It was stupid. It was doomed to fail. But I wanted it. I wanted him. No matter the consequences.
Not that I expected him to return the feelings, of course. Guys like him, they ended up with those model-types I tried really, really hard not to compare myself too, knowing nothing good could ever come of it. But model guys went for model girls. It was biological. People naturally went for those who were nearly equal to them in looks. Of course, there were exceptions when money came into play. Or a really, really great sense of humor.
I had neither.
"Thanks. It's an old family recipe. My mom always swore mine was somehow always better than hers even when we followed the same recipe. There's a trick to it," I confided in him, waiting for him to give me a little nod. "I always put extra cheese. Always. I never admitted that to her. I kinda just... liked that she asked me to make it when she'd had a rough week. It was a small way I felt like I could sort of take care of her for a change. Besides, she made an apple pie that could make angels sing and a meatball that surpassed any I had then or since, so I thought it was fair that I had one superior dish."Totally fair. Haven't had a homemade meal in a long ass time."Did Liv and Astrid cook?"On and off. Liv always went hard on holidays. But we did a lot of ordering in too."Do you cook at all?"Never got a chance to learn."It's never too late. I mean, to learn a few basic dishes at least. It's nice not to have to order in all the time."You offering to teach me?Another belly flutter.
More of that warmth.
I could get way, way too used to it.
"If you want to learn, I'd be happy to teach you. Oh, brownies," I declared to the knock at the door, immediately going to stand. Only to have Cam's hand press down on my thigh, a silent appeal to stay where I was as he got to his feet.
My gaze was still fixed on my thigh, somehow still feeling the pressure of his fingers there even as I heard him open the door, as the delivery guy greeted him by name.
He came back a moment later, dropping down a bag with brownies and what looked like a little container of vanilla ice cream.
