Page 79 of 10 Signs You Need to Grovel

I glance at Sadie for the first time since Max barreled down here, and the happy thud of my heart slows. Her expression’s intense, but I can’t tell if it’s proud-mom-loving-this-sweet-bonding intense or he’ll-enter-a-tattoo-shop-over-my-dead-body intense.

“As the artist,” she says evenly, giving me nothing, “I think you should be there. Now go upstairs and take a shower. You have layers of caramel on you.”

He says an enthused “Yes” under his breath and runs out of the kitchen.

Sadie’s still intense, her nostrils flaring as she stares at me. Then she advances, reaches up, and tugs my head down. Before I know what’s happening, she’s kissing me. Hard presses of her lips mixed with needy sounds. My shock doesn’t last long. I haul her against me, give back as good as I’m getting. Tongue. Hungry lips. A little roughness for good measure.

I drag my lips over her jaw, plant a wet kiss on the shell of her ear. “Does this mean I get to stay and cook you dinner?”

A shudder runs through her. Her ear was always a direct hit. “Only if you stay the night.”

I pull back abruptly, too stunned and happy to act cool. “What about Max?”

“You’ll have to leave before he gets up, and no open affection in front of him. But I can’t keep fighting this. How much I . . .” She clamps her jaw shut.

I’m not sure if she was about to say How much I still love you or How much I need to get laid. I don’t really care. While I did stash a just-in-case condom in my jeans, I didn’t actually think I’d be spending the night with Sadie yet. If I’d known, I might have jacked off this morning. Taken the edge off so I don’t come the second she touches me later. I’m already half-hard and might come from one hot look.

I step back, run my hand through my hair. “I’m making my chicken, tomato soup, and rice casserole.”

She laughs. “So predictable.”

“Sticking with my best moves.” I lean down one final time and drop a kiss on her shoulder. “Including the ones I’ll be showing you between the sheets.”

Her pulse flutters. I’m wound so tight I might pass out.

TWENTY-FOUR

I don’t let Max or Sadie help me cook. They’re sitting at the counter—Max drinking apple juice and Sadie drinking white wine—having a blast while taunting me.

“See how he’s ripping open that bag of frozen vegetables instead of cutting it?” Sadie says after a sip of wine. “Don’t ever do that. That’s how vegetables escape to inedible vegetable land.”

On cue, pieces of broccoli and carrot scatter across the floor.

“Three-second rule,” I say, collecting the runaway veggies and rinsing them under water.

“That’s a thing,” Max agrees. I pour the raw rice into the casserole dish, and he balks. “He didn’t measure the rice. He’s supposed to measure the rice.”

I give a dramatic huff. “Not if I’m a master chef. Master chefs do it by feel.”

“The only thing he’s a master of,” Sadie says, “is being a smart aleck. Your dad once managed to burn soup.”

I’m officially Dad now. Excuse me while I remove the dust from my eye.

“Your mother’s confused. She’s thinking about the time she got distracted when cooking in her college apartment and set off the fire alarm, sending the whole building out in the pouring rain.” Because I distracted her by stripping naked and lounging on her couch.

Her cheeks pink. Is she remembering how hard she rode me that night too?

“He doesn’t need to be a master chef,” Max says. “He’s gonna be a Dauntless Duke lawyer who fights for the little guy.”

Sadie squints at him. “Dauntless?”

“It’s from a book,” he says, his tone all get with the program, Mom.

“Well, whatever that is, your dad will be the best. Duke or die,” she says and winks at me.

I said exactly that—Duke or die—the day we whispered our fears on the edge of Bear Lake, and she told me it didn’t matter where I studied law. Except it did matter then, and it does now. For different reasons. People like Justin Bernardini and most gawkers at the art walk looked at me like I was a deadbeat. Duke is top tier. A degree from there comes with prestige. If I want to earn the pride on Sadie’s face, not have her feeling like she needs to defend me in public, Duke is my ticket.

When my main ingredients are assembled and all that’s left is covering it in canned tomato soup, I hold up my hands like a doctor prepping for surgery. “I need a can opener, stat.”