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"We haven't eaten lunch. Or dinner." On cue, my stomach growls. "I'm starving."
Joel's lips curl into a smile. He moves to the dresser and opens the top drawer. "How about Joel, you really worked up my appetite."
"How about Bella, angel, you really worked up my appetite?"
"You like me calling you angel?"
I nod. I like it a lot.
His smile widens. "You like the reminder you're a good girl."
I admit nothing.
He tosses me a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. "You like feeling like a naughty girl."
It's not a question. There's no need to answer. Even so, the flush in my cheeks spreads to my chest as I pull on Joel's boxers and t-shirt. They fit surprisingly well, given his fit physique and my curvy figure.
He smiles. "I finally get why women are always trying to steal my shit."
"Why?"
"Seeing you in my clothes." He bites his lip as he slides his arms around my waist. "It's fucking hot."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He leans in to plant a soft, slow kiss on my lips.
God, he's a good kisser. I feel warm.
Complete.
I really, really like him.
I force myself to pull back. I don't want to think about how much I like Joel. It's confusing. And I'm starving. "Did I really work up your appetite?"
"Yeah." He presses his palm against my lower back and leads me to the kitchen.
I hop onto the counter to take a seat. Joel starts digging through the fridge. He pulls out red peppers, frozen broccoli, frozen shrimp.
"What are you making?" Whatever it is, it looks good.
"Nothing." He grabs a box of pasta from the pantry. Then sun dried tomatoes. Dried garlic, basil, and parsley. His eyes meet mine. "I'm teaching you to make something."
"What if I don't want your help?"
"Then the lesson is going to take a really fucking long time." His stare is a challenge. We both know you want to learn from me.
I hop off the counter. "You're teaching me to make some sort of pasta dish."
"I improvise." He nods to the food on the counter. "You have to know what flavor profiles go together. Shrimp is good with red peppers, garlic, basil, red sauce."
"And it's still the only food we have."
He laughs. "Technicalities."
I nod. That all sounds delicious. But it's beyond my understanding of cooking. I can follow recipes to a T, but I don't have a clue how to improvise beyond combining a meat, a starch, and a vegetable with a bottle of sauce.
"You like shrimp?"
