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“You wanna help? I'll cook the chicken if you want to start on the sauce.”
“Do you have a recipe for me to follow?” She looks truly concerned that she'll fuck it up.
I tap my temple. “All up here, babe. I'll walk you through it.”
For the next thirty minutes, we work side by side. She mixes and stirs the ingredients in a pot while I cut and sauté the chicken.
As the sauce simmers, I guide her through boiling the pasta. While she does that, I grab some plates and make our drinks.
“My stomach is going to eat itself soon,” she whines, inhaling the scent of our food.
I laugh, enjoying this side of her. She hasn't glared at me once since we started cooking.
Once the sauce is done, I add in the chicken and let it marinate for a few minutes before she makes a plate. As soon as Fallon makes it to the table, she digs in.
“This sauce is so good,” she moans around a piece of chicken, and I have to adjust myself as I sit across from her.
“I'll be the judge of that,” I tease since she technically made it.
“Don't be rude now,” she quips.
“Me? Look who's talking. I'm the nicest guy you'll ever meet.”
She snorts, devouring her food. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“Yeah, but I’m not like other guys.”
She snorts. “Oh really? Give me all of your exes’ numbers, and I'll find out for sure.”
I raise a brow. “Oh, we're having the exes talk already? Wow, you really do move fast.”
“Why are you so surprised? We're already living together.” She scoops a forkful of food and devours it like she hasn't eaten in days.
I bark out a laugh. This flirty banter is something I haven't seen from her, and my cock likes it—a lot.
Maybe the key is keeping her fed. Perhaps she's just been hangry this whole time.
One can dream.
“How many exes are there?” she blurts out.
“So we reallyarehaving this discussion?”
“Sure, why not? Unless there's been a lot, and you can't count that high?”
I scratch my cheek in amusement, shoveling more pasta into my mouth as I pick my next words carefully.
“I haven't really had...relationshipsper se. Not sure they can be considered an ex if it wasn't ever serious.”
“Oh, I get it now.”
I eye her curiously. “What?”
“You're a fuck boy.”
Her bluntness has me smirking. “I'm too old to be considered a fuck boy. I date women to see if we're a good match, and none have worked out long-term.”
“Fine, fuckman.” She shrugs, taking a bite of chicken and moaning. “Serial dater who's too afraid to settle down or commit—like every other man in this world. I'm sure you had no problem sleeping with them first before deciding they weren'tthe one.”
