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She rolls her eyes, her cheeks coloring red. It gives her a passionate, youthful look. Hell, let’s be honest. It’s a look that has my manhood stiffening, my end pushing against my pants as precome threatens, as lust lurks at the edges of my resolve.
“I haven’t got much of a career.”
“She’s being modest, bro,” Noah says. “She’s going to be a head chef one day. She works as a kitchen assistant at a restaurant, but you should taste some of her dishes. Absolute heaven.”
Elena beams, clearly happy about her husband complimenting his stepdaughter.
Another reminder, as if I needed one, that I have to calm down.
“I’d love to try something one day.”
“Thanks,” she murmurs, eyes back at the table. Her moment of bravery is over.
It would be a perfect world if I could nurture, support, and protect her until she never doubted herself. Doubt her confidence. Doubt heranything.
“Maybe I’ll cook later in the week,” she says. “At least at home, I don’t have a jerk breathing down my neck.”
I sit up in my chair. It’s like violence has exploded into my being. Nobody has the right to turn my woman’s voice so down as if she doesn’t deserve respect.
“A jerk?” I growl.
“It’s nothing. Just the head chef. I made the mistake of talking about wanting to be a head chef one day, and he’s been riding me hard about it.”
“But why?” I ask, struggling to slow my breathing.
“I don’t know. It’s like he’s personally offended by it.”
“Crab mentality,” Noah mutters. “Only one can rise to the top of the bucket. Only one can climb out by clambering over all the other crabs. Some people hate seeing others happy.”
“I hope he isn’t too bad,” I say, fist clenched under the table.
“No, it’s fine,” she replies. “Hardly worth mentioning, honestly.”
CHAPTERTHREE
Layla
“So, how was it?” Tess asks from my laptop, leaning forward eagerly.
We’ve been friends since she stood up for me in third grade, pushing my bully into the dirt. She’s got straightened black hair and always wears punk rock makeup, heavy eyeliner, and bright or sometimes black lipstick.
She’s the only person who knows about the kiss. At first, I was terrified of telling her. I remember her judgmental tone at the wedding when she caught me eyeing Miles.
After a couple of months, it became too difficult to keep it all in. Even now, I spot the disapproval in her tightening eyes, a frown attempting to form on her lips.
“Difficult,” I admit, keeping my voice low.
Mom and Noah are downstairs, watching a movie, but Miles is in his room. It’s on the opposite side of the house to mine, but I still can’t risk him hearing me.
“We talked about my work,” I go on. “About Graham, my boss, and it was weird. It was almost like Miles got pissed on my behalf, but I could be imagining it.”
Or I wished for it.
“He didn’t mention the kiss, obviously.”
Tess nods slowly. “I’d say it was a successful lunch, then. All you have to do is pretend for a couple of weeks. Ignore the kiss.”
“I know,” I snap, “but it’s not as easy as that.”
