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NINETEEN
We atethe best damn burritos on the planet before actually going back up the stairs and working. I’d heard Ford typing plenty during the days we’d spent in my dorm room, but he seemed faster now that we were back at his place. When I glanced over at him, he looked a lot more comfortable than he ever had writing on the floor next to me, or on Teagan’s old desk, or on my bed.
I felt a little bad for making him stay with me for so long, but then again, he felt a little bad for turning me into a werewolf. So, I figured we were probably even.
Around dinner time, I decided to try my hand at cooking for the first time in ages. I’d helped my grandma in the kitchen during holidays, but that was pretty much it over the past year and a half or so, since I’d started college.
Ford, of course, came downstairs with me, and though I frequently felt his gaze on my back, his fingers were still flying over the keyboard while he sat at his kitchen table.
I danced and hummed along to some music while I chopped borderline-old potatoes and frozen sausage, throwing them in a massive pan with cheese, onions, and peas to make what my grandma had always called “goulash” even though it in no way resembled the actual goulash that normal people made.
My laptop was open off to the far side of the sink, too, and I was memorizing terms for one of my classes in-between stirrings, after I’d finished chopping everything. My hair was still up on top of my head, as it had been since our shower, and I was crossing my fingers that it had dried looking decent since I hadn’t put much effort in and had fallen asleep on the floor soon after washing it.
My baggy sweater was hanging off my shoulder, my black leggings hugging my curves beneath it as I leaned over the counter. Drumming my fingers, I closed my eyes and tried to silently recite the last few things I’d been memorizing.
Ford’s typing paused, and when it didn’t resume immediately, I opened my eyes and looked at him.
And of course, he was staring at me.
“What?” I stopped drumming my fingers. “Is something wrong with my hair?” I reached up to touch it.
“No. You’re just really fucking gorgeous, that’s all.” He stared at me another minute before his attention dipped back down to his laptop. A moment later, the typing resumed.
My cheeks were warm as I turned back to the stove to stir everything again, his words running through my mind.
“You’re just really fucking gorgeous, that’s all.”
Did he have to be so damn sweet to me?
I mean, I was glad he was.
Really glad.
But it made it really hard for me to want to take things slow when he was that adorable.
And sexy.
And… argh, I was overthinking things.
I really needed to figure out a way to focus on my work.
Focus… yes, that was what I really needed. Why was it so freakin’ difficult?
And how was he focusing so well while I was struggling so badly?
Maybe I needed a plan of some sort.
I thought it over as I stirred the potatoes, my mind turning until I subconsciously noticed Ford’s typing quiet again.
“What are you thinking so hard about in there?” Ford asked, from his chair at the table.
Was it tacky to admit I was thinking hard about how difficult he made it to focus on school?
I didn’t know, and didn’t really want to overthink that on top of everything else.
“I can’t focus, and I can’t figure out how to,” I admitted. “And you’re just over there, creating worlds or writing sex scenes or some shit.”
He snorted. “I told you I don’t write sex in my books. Or at least I didn’t… I’m finding my imagination has leveled up in the last two weeks on that front.”
