Page 150 of Faking the Goal

He slides a glass toward me.

I stare at it, then at him. "Bossy." I mumble as I slide onto the stool. "Seriously, is there anything you can't do?"

He snorts. "I suck at singing."

"I don't know..." I grin. "That sounds suspiciously like something someone who's secretly amazing at singing would say."

He doesn't even dignify that with a response.

Instead, he reaches into a drawer, pulls out a pair of wooden chopsticks and a renge spoon, and places them beside my bowl.

"Here. Try it." His voice gets a little quieter. "I hope you like it."

"Thanks."

I lean over the bowl first, letting the steam hit my face. The broth smells rich with pork and garlic and sesame, and for a moment I just breathe it in because even that feels like it's resurrecting parts of me tequila murdered last night.

When I glance up, Kentaro is watching me from the other side of the island.

One hand is braced against the countertop while the other rests beside it, his body leaning forward ever so slightly.

He's pretending to be casual.

He's failing miserably.

He's clearly waiting to see if I like it.

I dip the spoon into the broth, lift it, and bring it to my lips.

The flavor explodes across my tongue. It's rich and complex, with layers of pork and garlic and this subtle heat that builds at the back of the throat. The fat from the broth coats my mouth in this luxurious way that makes me want to write sonnets. I make another involuntary noise, this one even more obscene than the last.

"Holy shit," I say, my eyes wide. "Ken-chan. This is—this is actually delicious. I've had ramen before but, this is better. This is significantly better."

I glance up just in time to catch the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth before he quickly looks down at his own bowl and picks up his chopsticks as though nothing happened.

"Mhmm."

That's it.

That's all I get.

But I catch it—that tiny, almost imperceptible upward twitch at the corner of his mouth. He's pleased. He's trying so hard not to show it, but he's pleased.

"This might actually be the best ramen I've ever had."

His shoulders lift in the smallest shrug.

"No, seriously." I point my spoon at him. "You have got to make this for me more often."

I only mean it as a joke.

Apparently...

He doesn't.

"I will."

The answer comes so effortlessly it almost overlaps my own words.