Conan: With you waiting? Not possible. See you then.
Conan: Oh, and Mackie? I miss you.
My heart does a funny flip. I put my phone down screen first, only to find every single eye on me. My cheeks heat, and I shove my sandwich in my mouth as I stand. “I’m going back to work,” I grumble and hurry away.
As I pass the office, I realize Noah is watching me too.
Conan wasn’t joking. He has been outside since five. He kept his car idling, but he didn’t rush me. He told me to take my time, but I’m anxious to spend time with him. Noah seems to have other ideas, however, because he keeps forcing me to fill out paperwork.
I finally slam my pen down and shove my chair back.
“It’s six thirty, and everyone else has left. I’m leaving too. I have plans. I will finish this tomorrow,” I tell him as I sling my bag over my shoulder, since he caught me as I was heading out.
“You can finish it now,” he begins, but I roll my eyes and wave as I walk to the door. I practically run when I get outside, but Conan beats me, opening my door for me. Taking my bag, he throws it in the back and fastens my seat belt. His spicy cologne wraps around me, and I draw a deep breath as I sweep my gaze along his exposed collarbone as his shirt gapes.
“Ready?” he murmurs as he shifts back.
“Ready and starving,” I reply before my eyes widen. “For food.”
His chuckle raises the hair on my arms as he leans in until he almost touches me. “I’m starving too, and not just for food.” He ducks out, shutting my door and grinning as he walks around and climbs into his car.
I watch Conan cook. He appears domestic in his apron as he moves around his kitchen. His place is really nice, and I want to snoop, but I’m unable to look away from him, especially when he rolls his sleeves back, exposing tan forearms and bulging veins as he chops and stirs. It’s like my very own show, and I enjoy it as I sip my drink and lean against his counter.
He turns to me, holding a spoon in one hand and cupping his palm under it. “Taste it for me.”
Setting my drink down, I lick it with a hum. “Delicious,” I say. He’s obviously a good cook, even if he doesn’t do it often for himself. Conan always says he doesn’t have time, but his kitchen is full of groceries, and he made the time for me. That’s important.
His eyes seem to darken as he watches me before he puts the spoon in the pot then faces me once more. “Conan,” I begin, but he’s already moving.
He grips my hips and lifts me onto the counter, then he steps between my legs. Grabbing the spoon, he slides the sauce across my lips then licks it off, tasting it and me. “You’re right, delicious,” he murmurs before he turns back to the stove, leaving me frozen.
“Not fair,” I finally grit out.
“Who said I played fair?” He winks.
For the next hour, he proves that he doesn’t. He flirts relentlessly while cooking, touching me softly and making me taste things. I’m on edge, waiting to see what he will do next. By the time we actually sit down to eat, I’m antsy, and if his smirk is anything to go by, he knows it.
When we’re done, I help him clean up, enjoying the domestic atmosphere. Relationships are great, with the rush and excitement, but these were always my favorite moments, the quiet times working side by side just doing mundane tasks. No one writes songs or books about it, but sharing those everyday moments that make up our lives? I love it.
Staring out at the incredible view from Conan’s windows, I lapse into comfortable silence as he finishes cleaning up behind me. I shouldhelp, but I keep looking at the view. I want to ask about his husband and his life, but I don’t want to pop this bubble we are in.
His arms slide around me from behind, wrapping around my chest as his chin rests on my shoulder. He presses his lips against my neck in a soft, chaste kiss. “I should take you home,” he murmurs, yet neither of us move. “Fuck, baby boy, tell me to take you home. Tell me to stop.”
I lift my hand and cover his on my chest as I lean back into him. “Why? I want you just as badly.”
I want Conan. I want to hear those noises in real time, taste his lips again, and feel taken care of.
His breath is shaky as it hits my neck, and I shudder before I turn in his arms and look up at him. “You said you wanted to take this slowly,” I say.
“I did,” he murmurs. “Yet I look at you and I can’t remember why the hell I wanted to.”
“Me either,” I admit as I lean into him, stroking his chest. Nothing else matters—not his past or my broken heart—just that we both want each other right now.
His hand cups my chin as he pulls me closer. “Why don’t I forget why for five more minutes?”
“Just five?” I meant it to be teasing, but it sounds serious.
“If not, I’ll forget for the entire night,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on my lips. “And you aren’t ready for that, but I’m going to be selfish and take five minutes. Can I have five minutes?”
