When he puts his hand on his belt, I hold my hands up in surrender. “All right, I give. I have nothing else to take off.”
“I could suggest something, if you need ideas.” The oven beeps then, and it’s not the only thing that’s preheated.
Ben is giving me a very... unplatonic look. For the first time, a bloom of hope swells inside me, like a heart-shaped balloon inflating inmy chest.Ben and me together... could it actually work? Is he wondering the same thing?I know I’m not imagining this tension saturating the air between us. There’s no way he’s seriously dating Corinne if he’s playing strip... er, cooking with me in his kitchen.
Unless...
What if Benisdating Corinne—and bringing me back here because he bringslotsof women home to his apartment? What if I’m just one of many? What ifI’mthe other woman? I may have feelings for Ben, but there are lines I won’t cross. I’m not a woman who screws over other women. And I’m certainly not lining up to be another notch on his bedpost.
I take a step back. Then another.
Confusion clouds his expression. “What’s the matter?”
I swivel toward the counter, obscuring my face as best I can. “Nothing.”
This is getting ridiculous. I should just ask him—Are you dating Corinne?Find out once and for all. But something’s stopping me, a combination of pride and fear and doubt that has me paralyzed with indecision. What if I’m totally misreading him? What if he’s just messing with me again, like he did on our run? What if I lay my cards out on the table and he rejects me—or worse, gives me thejust friendsspeech? I’ll never recover from the shame.
“Did I cross the line? I was just kidding around.”
See? It was a joke, Kate.
I force a smile. “You’re fine. I’m just hungry.”So hungry for you, you have no idea.“Let’s focus on dinner.”
I start bustling around the kitchen, keeping my back to him as I talk. “I should warn you, the cleanup on this meal is steep. We’re probably going to use every pot and pan you have.” I open his lower cabinets and they’re practically empty. “Which apparently won’t be too hard.” I drag out his two lonely pans and set them on the stove.
“I’ll clean, so don’t worry about that.”
He rolls up his sleeves and I have to avert my eyes. It’s such a routine male gesture, but the way my body reacts you’d think he was doing a striptease.
When he holds up his hands and says, “Okay, put me to work,” I nearly break into hysterical laughter. The kind of work I want him to do would make a hooker blush.
I set him up chopping the onion instead while I quickly assemble the queso and get it in the oven. Working side by side in his kitchen is a challenge—it’s a small space, and since he’s not a small guy, I find myself constantly brushing against him. Every graze of his shirt-clad arm sears me like a drop of hot oil. I need to simmer down. I need to bite down on a strip of leather and scream.
“Do I get to find out what we’re having yet?” His voice pulls me out of my stupor.
“Sure. Pulled chicken and pulled pork tacos.” I laugh when his face lights up. “You look like a kid on Christmas morning.”
“Ifeellike a kid on Christmas morning.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“But will it get me another home-cooked meal?” He arches a brow.
“How about you let me finish this one first?”
“Ugh, fine.” He puts his knife down. “Done. What’s next?”
My phone dings, but I can’t check it because my hands are covered in meat product. “Can you see who’s texting me?”
He cranes his neck. “Mom:Don’t forget it’s your grandmother’s birthday tomorrow.”
“Ooh, good reminder.” I wash my hands so I can text her back.
“Do you think it says something about us that the only people who call us are our moms?” Ben muses.
“Says something aboutyou, maybe.” I finish my text and toss the phone down. “My mom says hi. And she’s sending you heart-eyes emojis.” I make a retching noise and shudder.
“Please tell Bev I said hi. In fact...”
