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He finally shut his mouth and Sydney devoured her food. Judging by the look of elation on her face, he hadn’t messed up, even with the sauce. He thought that he might have added a little too much butter, maybe too much cream, that it was too rich, so he’d tried to balance it out with pepper and then he was worried that it would be too spicy, but Sydney seemed to think it was just right. Or maybe she was just starved. Period.
Either way, she sat back with a sigh when she was finished. He’d beat her in the eating race, so he cleared away their dishes, placing them in the sink.
“Do you still like your pie with whipped cream?”
Syd’s eyes went wide. Her top teeth sunk deep into her bottom lip and he could tell she was debating about whether she wanted to answer him or not, like it was some kind of trick question.
“Y-you made pie too?” she stammered, disbelief edging her tone. “Seriously. You? The guy who burns macaroni so badly that it catches on fire?”
“First of all, to be completely fair here, you were distracting me. We were playing poker, if I remember correctly, or at least you thought you knew how and you were trying to teach me. I was trying really hard to figure out what in the actual hell you were talking about, because I was pretty sure poker wasn’t supposed to be played that way and then, we started smelling this smell. I didn’t realize that the macaroni had boiled dry and I just thought that maybe some water splashed out on the burner, and it was like two point five seconds after that when you got up and ran into the kitchen and said the pot was on fire.”
“Good thing one of us had a brain.”
“Good thing,” he capitulated easily. “Though you were a shit poker player. For real.”
“I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent poker player. I go out with friends sometimes and play and I actually win money.”
“What? Like one night out of a hundred?”
“Fuck you, Jesse.”
The way she said his name filled up the kitchen. It was oddly gentle and somehow intimate attached to the first two words preceding it.
“Sure,” he winked at her and watched her face go adorably scarlet. “Now, about that whipped cream.”
“Yes. Yes, I still love whipped cream with my pie.” The blush never faded, and Syd dropped her eyes to her hands, which were clutched so tightly in her lap it looked like she’d just shed years of doubt and become suddenly and ridiculous devout. “What kind of pie? It’s probably some sick combination like strawberry rhubarb. Rhubarb. Like whoever puts that stuff in shit should be shot. Whoever invented it should be shot.”
“I’m pretty sure that would be… uh- mother nature?”
A small smile tugged at Syd’s lips and his cock responded to it like it was her hand doing the smiling. Like… wrapped around his cock.
He gave his head a shake as he opened the huge door of the industrial looking stainless-steel fridge. It really was overkill. And mostly empty, since the bastard could house enough food to literally feed fifty people.
He produced a can of whipped cream and a box of pie, obviously purchased from the store.
Syd let out a squeal as soon as she saw it. “Seriously? You said you made it.”
“I actually didn’t say anything about making it. You were the one who made the assumption. And by the way, I like rhubarb.”
“I know,” Sydney shuddered. “Your mom used to grow it in her backyard right at the end of the garden, where everyone could see that huge abomination. You used to go and pick it and break the leaf off and eat the stem raw.”
“I did dip it in a bowl of sugar. I liked it. I still do. What’s wrong with your teeth and tongue fuzzing up a little? It’s no worse than eating a granny smith apple.”
“Also, an abomination, unless dipped in caramel and nuts with a stick shoved up its ass.”
Jesse set the pie and the can of whipped cream down on the counter. “Do apples actually have an asshole?”
“Yeah. Of course. It’s that little weird crusty flowery looking circle thing at the bottom.”
He slid the pie out of the box, which just happened to be peach. It did say that it was made in the store’s bakery, on site, so that should count for something. Was it really store bought then or did that come down more on the side of homemade?
“Pretty sure that’s not an asshole.”
“It’s definitely an asshole.”
“I don’t think it is.”
“Would you eat it?”
His eyes flicked up and too late, Syd realized what she’d just said. She dropped her eyes to the can of whipped cream. “I see you splurged,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Got the really good expensive stuff.”
