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Once the sausage is in the pan and simmering on low, I break the spaghetti noodles in half and throw them into the water. Next, I crank the oven temperature up to four hundred and get the garlic breadsticks ready on a cookie sheet.
Glancing over, I find Lexi at the stove, stirring around the meat so it doesn’t scorch. A weird sensation sweeps through my body, and I find myself just staring. She looks so comfortable and so fucking hot standing in my kitchen that my level of contentment stops me in my tracks.
I want this.
This foreign feeling that seems a hell of a lot like happiness.
We work side by side as we finalize dinner, co-existing as if we’ve been here for years. Neither of us talk, but words aren’t needed. Every time I steal a few glances, she’s looking at me, a small smile playing on those lips. Yeah, those lips. The ones I’ve been dreaming about kissing again until I’m dizzy with lust and hard enough to jackhammer concrete.
“Spaghetti’s ready,” I holler at the boys as I move the sauce from the counter to the table.
Before I can even grab a plate, Lexi has a plate in one hand and the other in front of her on the counter, scooping a pile of noodles onto both plates. She moves effortlessly as she adds sauce, meat, and a garlic breadstick to each plate. Then, she delivers them to the table, where my brothers are waiting. Grabbing a pitcher of lemonade that I made earlier, I pour them each a small glass, then two larger ones for us.
“Jeff, use your napkin, not your hand,” I advise, grabbing a paper napkin from the pile and setting it beside him.
“My pasketti is the best!” he exclaims, mouth full of half-chewed food.
“Spaghetti,” I say.
“That’s what I said!”
Smiling, I grab the last plate and pile it high with carbs. Lexi’s already sitting at the table, laughing at something Jack is saying, and looks so relaxed, so much younger than her twenty-five years. She looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world, as if the stresses of everyday life and those extra ones associated with her douchecanoe ex, no longer exist.
Suddenly, I’m more determined than ever to keep that look on her face.
After dinner, she helps clean up the mess, even though I tell her not to. I can clean up the dishes after she leaves and the boys are in bed. But since she’s offering to help, I’m not about to miss a single second of having her in my kitchen, working side by side to complete a chore as simple as washing dishes.
Instead of watching The Gladiator, I find a show I like called Forged in Fire. Of course the boys are into it since the premise of the show is making knives. Lexi sits beside me on the couch as the boys demonstrate how they’d use each knife made to maim and kill their opponent.
When it gets a little gruesome, I redirect their attention to dessert. Even though they still watch the show, the boys eat ice cream with a chocolate shell that hardens. “Watch, Lex! I’m going to kill my ice cream,” Jack says, stabbing the shell with his spoon and breaking it apart into small pieces.
“You better eat it before it melts. Otherwise, I’m going to,” she says, smiling fondly down at my brother. They’re sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, eyes wide and riveted as two remaining bladesmiths battle for the title of champion of the episode.
She dips her spoon into her ice cream and scoops up a bit of the hard chocolate shell before slipping it into her mouth. I almost moan out loud as she licks the bottom of the spoon, my pants tightening with each second I watch. Her eyes find mine on her, hot and yearning.
“Do I have some on my face?”
“If you did, I’d just lick it off,” I tell her, watching hypnotically as her sexy little tongue slips out and slides along the corner of her mouth.
“Dirty bird,” she mumbles.
“You have no idea the things playing through my mind right now.” Like you naked while I suck melted ice cream off your tits. “If I close my eyes, I’d be watching porn.”
She giggles and takes another spoonful of melting ice cream. Her eyes are on mine as she brings it to her mouth and dips her tongue into the sweet, cold mixture, swirling it around and coating the tip of her tongue in white.
My balls start to ache.
“That’s not very nice, seductress.”
“Do you want a bite?”
“Are we talking about the ice cream or something else? Because yes, I definitely want a bite,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and slowly drawing it towards my mouth.
Her eyes are emerald balls of fire as she watches me bring the spoon to my mouth. My tongue darts out, lazily licking the same cream where her tongue just trailed. Her mouth opens and she starts to pant when I slowly slide my tongue along the top of the spoon, parting the ice cream, before wrapping my mouth completely around it and closing. When I swallow, I make sure to do it slowly, my eyes locked on hers the entire time.
Erotic. As. Fuck.
After a moment, she pulls the spoon from my mouth. Clearing her throat, she says, “Okay. We should definitely eat more ice cream.”
