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Shit, I said something wrong. Or did something wrong.
I take a quick sweep of the place, rethinking every word that spilled from my lips. I don’t think I stuck my foot in my mouth. So, it’s got to be something else. I rescan the room. The place is a disaster. Forget all of the construction clutter and stacks of boxes, Brendan’s clothes litter the corner, his shit sprawled over the counters, and dirty dishes fill the sink. At least our plumber, Havi, left for the evening so it’s not noisy as fuck in here like it’s been all day.
I grab a few of Brendan’s things and toss them in an empty box. “Sorry, it’s not usually this bad.” It’s not quite a lie. He’s always been a slob, but usually it’s hidden behind his closed door. I rinse his dishes and load them in the dishwasher. “Fingers crossed, the bulk of the remodel will be done this weekend, then we can unpack and clean up in here. We had to replace a bunch of the piping in here that put us behind schedule. But, fingers crossed, Friday morning, that dumpster will be gone out front. The port-a-John is leaving hopefully early next week, as soon as our toilets are installed.” Then it’s all little things. Cleaner things. Shutting the dishwasher, I glance over my shoulder.
She bites her bottom lip, her delicate fingers toying with the hem of her sweater while her face holds that pouty, dejected look. She still hasn’t moved an inch, those sunglasses still hide her eyes.But all I can think of is that creamy patch of skin peeking out between her shorts and shirt, teasing me. Something shiny glints off her belly button, and damn, I have to know if she has a stomach piercing as well. Yet, I’m never going to find out with that expression on her face.
I’m not scoring any points at all, so I change tactics. “Plan on wearing those shades the entire time?”
“Oh, um . . . Yeah.” She takes a step inside, finally taking off those shades and hooking them on her sweater.
At least she’s inside now. I wipe down the counter and open the fridge, taking out an armload full of food. Luckily, I had already planned a Surf and Turf for dinner, so there’s plenty to share. “Do you have any food allergies?” Dumping it on the counter, I reach for my cutting board.
“Huh?” She turns from staring at the clear, plastic sheeting blocking off the living room.
I gesture to the steaks and seafood filling the countertop. Her gaze glides over the food but continues to the edge of the counter, where a pair of red boxers with little white hearts sit crumpled in a pile.
“Sorry, those are Brendan's.” I start to elaborate on how much of a slob he is, but he’s been working full-time, managing a new construction site with a crew he just met. Then he comes home every day and works for a few hours on our small renovation. His plate is full right now. That’s why I've been helping out as much as I can. Grabbing his boxers, I wad them up in a ball, then toss them in the laundry basket in our makeshift room. No way I’m checking if they are clean or not. That falls along the same lines as not sharing a bathroom with him.
After washing my hands, I gesture back to the food. “So, food allergies or special dietary restrictions?”
“Nope,” her shoulders relax as she leans up against the opposite counter I’m working at, “I’ll eat anything.”
I give her a wicked grin, imagining what all I could get her to eat as I try to get a better glimpse of her belly button. “Good to know.” I still can’t quite tell, so I turn back to dinner. I need to keep my head out of places it has no business being, keep this casual. Selecting a paring knife, I start with the veggies.
“What all are you making?” she asks after a few minutes.
I toss the zucchini slices on a sheet of aluminum foil and grab an onion. “Not too much, figured I’d do something simple today. Grilled zucchini, shrimp, salmon, steaks.” Shit, I pause staring at the two porterhouses. There’s one large salmon fillet that I can easily portion into three, but there’s no good way to cut up a steak.
“That’s your idea of simple?” she blurts before I can ask just how hungry she is. Her stomach has been growling since she caught me in her shower. My dick twitches at the memory of her eyes on me. Dark shades on or not, I could still tell exactly where her eyes kept lingering.
I shrug, ignoring the tightness in my pants as I slice the onion into thin strips. I don’t need to go there. She hasn’t given me any indications that she wants to go there. This is all casual. “It pretty much cooks itself.” Other than timing it right and seasoning, there’s no real skill involved.Which leaves all my skills open for things I can only imagine doing.
“Are you planning on feeding an army?”
“Something like that.” I wink over my shoulder. Brendan can pack away the calories. And I never shy from a good meal, although at the moment, I’m starved for something else. Something I didn’t think I was even remotely ready to contemplate yet. There’s just something about her, an intensity that I want to drown in, an understated beauty without a drop of makeup as if she has no idea how hot she is. Combine that with her mysterious air, and she’s my kryptonite.
She bites her bottom lip, staring at the food before she whips her head toward the dining room, where mine and Brendan’s beds are temporarily set up.
“It’s not the best setup,” I read the question in her eyes, “but hopefully we can move into our rooms this weekend.”
“So, you live here with . . .” she draws out the last word, almost like she’s unsure.
“My brother.”
She nods, her fingers toying with her shirt again, but her eyes tell me, that anything but answers her question.
Deciding to change topics back to our dinner, since that seems to be the only thing that gets her to relax, I add a little salt and olive oil to the veg and wrap the aluminum foil up like a little present. “Do you like it spicy?”
“Huh?”
I grab the chili flakes and garlic powder. “Your steaks?” Although, that could fit for a lot of other things I’m dying to know about her.
“Um, yeah. That’s fine.”
"Great. How do you like yours cooked?" I figure she can share mine. I’m all for sharing after all, especially with her.
“Whatever’s fine.” She takes a step closer to me, watching as I work. She’s so close, I can feel the heat pouring off of her and flowing straight to my pants. I need to ignore it, focus on the task at hand. It’s all in my head.
