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Willow
Cooking with Finnis the most fun I’ve had in a long time. We move like a perfectly choreographed dance as we work. I tackle the appetizers and salad while Finn sets up the steaks to marinate and begins working on side dishes.
Fresh bruschetta on toasted French baguette to start. Twice baked potatoes, green beans, and a garden salad with my favorite crunchy sunflower seed topping as the sides.
“Potatoes have another ten minutes and then I’ll start the steaks,” Finn says as I begin pulling down plates.
“It smells amazing in here.”
When he doesn’t reply, I look over my shoulder to see his eyes smoldering in my direction. “Yes, it does.”
Max rounds the corner before I can reply. Finn immediately turns to face the stove again, but I don’t miss the way he slightly adjusts himself as he does.
“How much longer are you two planning on torturing me?” he asks, twisting the cork in a fresh bottle of wine.
What?
Did he see the look Finn gave me? Does he know what’s going on? Did Finn talk to him without telling me? He wouldn’t do that, would he? We agreed to wait. I want to be the one to tell Max. When the time’s right. After things calm down. When I know he can handle it.
“What’s wrong with you?” Max quirks his eyebrow at me when I don’t answer. He holds my stare for a few beats before Finn butts in, drawing his attention away from me.
“Thirty minutes, man. Tops. I’m about to start the steaks.”
“Cool. My stomach’s been making some interesting noises for almost an hour.”
Without so much as a backwards glance, Max heads back to the living room. Julian showed up a few minutes ago, popping in the kitchen to say hello and offering help which Finn quickly dismissed. Julian’s studying to go to culinary school. His love for cooking trumps everything except baseball. He’s been the starting pitcher for LSU since his freshman year.
Finn and I work in silence as we finish dinner. He excuses himself to his room as all of our friends gather around the island, filling their plates. When he doesn’t return after ten minutes, I head in search of him, claiming I need to use the restroom.
His bedroom door is wide open, and Finn is seated at the edge of his bed, head in his hands.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask as I casually lean against the doorjamb.
“Freaking out a little,” he states as he lifts his head, his eyes searching mine for answers I don’t have.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the overly confident one between the two of us?” I joke, moving into the room and sitting next to him.
“I just don’t want to screw this up.”
“You’re not going to. We have a solid plan. All we have to do is stick to it.”
And by solid plan I mean we decided to wait until the time was right to tell Max about us. To act casual and avoid staring at each other.
“My dick was pressed against the stove the entire time we were cooking, and I didn’t even touch you, LT. Your scent alone was enough to make me hard. And then when he came for more wine, I thought we were busted. My cock was so hard by that point I was worried about popping the button off my jeans.”
I can’t help the giggle that escapes. I’m picturing buttons flying across the kitchen, coming from his crotch. His jeans falling to his ankles as his cock stands at attention, pointing at me.
“Not as funny as you think,” he snorts. It’s the cutest thing. He’s trying really hard not to laugh at the image I’m sure is in his head as well. Finally, he glances at me, and I can see the smile he’s unable to contain. “You think they’d notice if we didn’t eat dinner?”
“Sadly, yes,” I state.
Groaning, Finn stands, extending his hand to me. When I place my palm in his, he tugs me close to his body, wrapping his arms around me. “Thank you for helping me cook tonight. I really appreciate it.”
“It was fun.”
“Just think, someday that will be what we do every night. Only, if I have my way, you won’t be wearing any clothes under your apron.”
A shiver runs up my spine as his words sink in, a reflection of the images I conjured of him earlier.
