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10
KAYLA
Mynoseforcesmy feet out of my room, following the smell of oregano and cheese with a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey tucked underneath my arm. My eyes land on the finest male specimen I’ve ever seen. He’s standing in front of the six-burner stove, his toned back clear in his white t-shirt. Grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, and I don’t need him to turn around to know he’ll give me a supermodel smile when he does. He’s like any girl’s wet dream and he sure as hell is mine. Bodi McKay is in a different league than all the boys I’d met at Stanford.
He’s right. He’s all man and I don’t think I will ever be able to look at any other boy my age as something I’m interested in. He already ruined me last summer, making it almost impossible to look at Trent the same when we got back together in the fall, but now that I’ve been spending the last few days with Bodi, I’m officially done for. I know I agreed with the no-flirting rule, but how the hell am I supposed to do that when he looks like this every time we get out of work?
He glances over his shoulder as if he feels my presence, shooting me that swoon-worthy smile I was talking about, basically making me want to melt into the floor.
“Dinner is almost ready,” he announces, then turns his focus back to grating the cheese in front of him.
On the grey marble of the kitchen island are two plates set, and I slide onto one of the stools. “What are you cooking?”
“Lasagna.” He smirks.
“You’re cooking me dinner?”
“You don’t cook, and I’m not going to eat any more fast food,” he explains, referring to the Wendy’s takeout we had for dinner last night.
“You have to admit, though, that burger was good, right?” I press my tongue against my teeth as my lips fight to smile.
He waggles his head, yet doesn’t turn around. “It was better than McDonald’s, but I still think my fresh burgers are better.”
“You’re so hard to please.”
“Depends.” Our gazes tangle together, and I can see the double meaning in his lust-filled eyes before he quickly continues what he’s doing. His arm moves to one of the upper cabinets, taking out two wineglasses, then he pours some red wine from the bottle sitting on the counter into both of them. A strange tingle moves through my organs, watching how he moves around the kitchen with comfort, mesmerizing me with his every move. When he turns around, our eyes lock and my breath stops for a brief moment as he offers me a glass. For just a few seconds, I’m speechless until he raises his brows in anticipation.
“I’m nineteen.”
“I’m aware.”
A frown knits my eyebrows together. “Are you feeling wild, Mr. McKay?”
He throws me a wink, and I inwardly moan at his handsomeness. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Deal.” I grab the stem of the glass, my fingers gently brushing his. His eyes narrow in suspicion as they land on my book.
“You’re reading Fifty Shades?” He nudges his chin toward the paperback, then turns around to finish dinner.
“You must think it’s silly, but it’s my comfort read.”
“I don’t think it’s silly.” His eyes find mine for a split second as he pulls the lasagna out of the oven. “I think every person who loves to read has a comfort read. One of those books that will always make them happy.” He places the lasagna on the counter, grabs the plates from the island, and puts a square portion on each of them.
“What is your comfort read?”
He purses his lips, giving me a sideways glance.
“It’s not necessarily a comfort read, but my favorite book is Trapped by Kent Brown. I even have a first edition of it.”
”Is that the book that turned into a movie last year?”
He nods. “Have you read it?”
“No, but it was a great movie,” I joke, and he shoots me a dull look.
“How come?”
“How come what?” I ask as I watch how he tops them both off with Parmesan.
“Why do you feel like you need a comfort read?”
With the two plates in his palms, he turns around and takes the two strides to set them on the placemats.
“I don’t know.” I shrug honestly. I’m not sad or anything. I’m not happy either. The last few days made me realize I’m good at something, good at organizing things. And the good thing is, I also really, really like it. But as soon as we come home every night, I feel like a failure. Like I blew my one shot at a degree from a top college. I hide it by focusing on Bodi’s company, tormenting him with my hidden flirts until it’s time for bed, but it’s there. My laughter’s overshadowed by a cloud of defeat.
He puts a small bowl of mushrooms between us, then takes the seat beside me on the other side of the counter.
His deep green eyes peer at me with an intensity that creates a defiance inside of me, and I hold his gaze.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” The features on his face soften, and my heart swells.
“What? Hold on, so it’s: Bodi McKay, boss, respected co-worker, friend, sex god, and therapist?” I joke.
“Did you say sex god?”
“Of course you hear that!”
“I’m a man. Did you say anything else?” He smirks.
I have my lips pressed together, doing my best to not let them turn up into a wide grin, then offer him a kind look. “Thank you for cooking me dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
I take a bite of my lasagna, and the hot substance falls on my tongue, slightly burning me. Hissing and huffing, I’m keeping my mouth open to let the hot air out, looking like an idiot, I’m sure. Bodi watches my ridiculous behavior, chuckling when my taste buds register the flavor explosion, and my eyes widen as big as saucers.
“OH, may goawd,” I moan while I slowly try to grind my teeth over the tomato sauce deliciousness. With my tongue suffering, I swallow my bite with my hand in front of my mouth. There is an aftertaste of cheese, tomato, and herbs I can’t place but make an addictive combination. When the hot food is burning through my gullet, and my mouth becomes empty enough to talk, I give him a shocked look.
“That is some good shit.” I blurt, resulting in a laugh from his belly. It echoes through the room, and I can’t help but smiling at the sound. “I mean it, it’s really good.”
“Better than a burger?” he challenges.
“Well, I’m not sure about that because you haven’t cooked me a burger yet.”
