Page 33 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

Upon entering Lucas’ house, one thing was made clear to me once again. My boyfriend knew how to be alluring to the point that all other thoughts were pushed from my brain, and I was left in a hormonal puddle of stupid. Lucas was in the kitchen, peeking into the oven, clad only in boxers. When I came through the front door, his eyes came up to meet mine, and he smiled widely, the sheer joy at seeing me plastered all over his face. How could I possibly say or do anything to hurt him in any way? It would be like kicking a dog…well, no…my boyfriend wasn’t a pet. But he always looked as happy to see me as a beloved family pet would. How do you say or do anything cruel to someone who loves you as deeply as you love them? Aren’t those the people you are supposed to go out of your way to be as loving and kind to as possible?

“Hey, babe.” He greeted me. “How does pork chops, roasted potatoes and carrots, roasted Brussels sprouts, and warm, buttery biscuits for dinner sound?”

“Amazing,” I responded automatically. “What are we having?”

Lucas laughed.

“Everything except the pork chops.” He bit his lower lip, making lower parts of me stir. “But I did pick up a cake from the Super Walmart on the way home from Toledo this afternoon. Double Double Fudge.”

“Ooooh.” I wiggled my hips suggestively as I sauntered toward the kitchen. “You treat me so fine with your big city store-bought cake.”

My boyfriend tried not to look amused.

He failed.

“Bite me, city boy.” Lucas teased as I hopped up onto the barstool on the other side of the counter from him. “I wanted to get home in time to get cleaned up so your second dessert would be fresh.”

“When you put it that way.” I pursed my lips as he leaned over the counter to give me a kiss.

“I thought you’d see it my way.” He spoke against my lips before pulling away. “Second dessert is always more important to you than first dessert.”

“I don’t even give a shit about dinner if you want to skip right to second dessert.” I teased, though my stomach grumbled at me, admonishing me for saying one of the dumbest things I’d ever said in my life.

“I heard that.” Lucas jabbed a finger at my stomach. “Tummy Robbie is not going to let you just lie and not call you out, babe.”

“Tummy Robbie?” I scoffed. “I have a flat stomach, thank you very much.”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise.” Lucas admonished me. “But, for the record, I wouldn’t care if you had a gut, ya’ shallow turd.”

I laughed loudly as Lucas winked at me as he slipped on an oven mitt. Lucas turned his attention to the oven, which he opened smoothly to pull out a sheet pan full of roasted vegetables as if doing a magic trick which involved a rabbit and a top hat. As my boyfriend found hot pads to place on the counter and placed the sheet tray of vegetables atop it, I unfurled my napkin and laid it in my lap. Lucas ducked again and another sheet tray with the buttery biscuits he had promised upon it. My mouth watered as I thought of stuffing one biscuit after another in my mouth, savory the warm, liquified butter dribbling down my chin and throat as I chewed hungrily.

“Is that look for me or the food?” Lucas asked, pulling me away from my thoughts.

“Huh?” I looked up.

“You’re drooling, babe.”

“Oh, shut up.” I rolled my eyes as I chuckled and reached up to wipe my mouth to make sure he had been joking.

“I’m glad that what I have to offer appeals to you.” Lucas was biting his lip again, making lower parts of me tingle once more. “There’s nothing like seeing my man enjoy my goods.”

“If you keep biting your lip, I’m going to start thinking one of two things,” I said as I reached for my fork, trying to control my urges.

“Which two things?” He was smiling wickedly as he leaned against the counter.

“Either you are trying to seduce me—which is unnecessary—or you are secretly Anastasia Steele.” I raised my eyebrows questioningly as Lucas started shoveling roasted carrots, potatoes, and Brussels sprouts onto my plate with a large spatula. “Seducing me is okay, though.”

“Who is Anastasia Steele?” Lucas asked as he piled my plate with vegetables. “Did we go to high school with her?”

“Really?” I frowned as I pierced a potato with my fork.

Lucas looked over at me briefly, his shoulders rising and falling as he transitioned to making his own plate.

“What kind of English teacher are you?”

“Substitute.” Lucas corrected me. “Literature usually. Is Anastasia Steele some famous book character?”

Lucas looked at me imploringly as he filled his plate and it dawned on me that there was no reason why Lucas would know who Anastasia Steele was. Of course, there was no reason that I should have that knowledge stored away in my brain, either.