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She walks out of the bathroom holding her toothbrush, watching me rub my eyes as I try to rouse myself. “We only have an hour until the first elimination challenge,” she says, glancing at the time on her phone.
I stifle a yawn. “You nervous?”
She snorts. “Obviously. What’s a bigger word than nervous? Apprehensive? Anxious? Scared shitless?”
I lean back on the cot and fold my arms behind my head, noting with more than a bit of satisfaction that Jen’s eyes linger on my shoulders, my arms, my chest, then drop down to my stomach where my tee has ridden up to show some skin. The blanket is gathered over my hips, and I lift a knee to hide the pulsing erection that grows under her perusal.
Her gaze is hot, and—me being the horny, keyed-up asshole I am—it makes me want to toss her on the bed and ram myself into her. When she tears her eyes away from me and turns back to the bathroom, I press my palm on my crotch and stare at the ceiling, willing my hard shaft to go down.
I should never have volunteered for this. When I saw she wasn’t at Four Cups, I should have left town again.
The truth is, our situation hasn’t changed. I’m still the washed-up chef who hasn’t done anything with his life since his misspent youth. I’m the guy who tried to move on but ended up right back where I started.
She’s still the brilliant baker who’s on a never-ending upward trajectory. Even world-renowned pastry chefs are congratulating her on her brilliance and salivating at the sight of her.
But when Jen exits the bathroom and pours herself a tea, I watch her grab a mug for me and fill it with coffee. She hates coffee, but she must have made a pot before I even woke up. My heart squeezes, because I don’t deserve her. She’s far too good for a guy like me.
Jen perches at the end of my cot, and I sit up and accept the steaming mug. All the reasons we can’t be together seem to fly right out of my head. I ache to tug her close, to feel her back resting against my chest, to run my fingers through her hair and feel her soften against me. No matter how many times I tell myself I don’t deserve her, it doesn’t change the fact that I crave her twice as badly.
Movement out the window catches my eye. I squint at the swaying trees, body stiff, trying to see what the hell is out there.
“What’s wrong?” Jen shifts closer on the couch, and her knee touches my thigh. I glance down at the contact for a brief moment, loving how easy it is for her to get close to me. When I look back at the window, all I see is greenery.
I shake my head. “Nothing. There must be an active deer population out there. I keep seeing shapes moving in the trees and thinking they’re people.”
“Maybe they’re birds.” She shudders.
I grin. “Still scarred?”
“What do you mean, ‘still?’” She rears back. “That was traumatizing.”
I grin just as her alarm goes off. “Time to start our first elimination challenge.”
Jen releases a long sigh, and I slide my hand over her thigh to give it a comforting squeeze, loving the feel of her body beneath my palm. Craving more—always more.
If my touch has any effect on Jen, she doesn’t show it. Her mind is already on what’s ahead. She squares her shoulders, jaw clenched. “Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER 6
Jen
FIRST ELIMINATION CHALLENGE: CROISSANTS
We make it to set with three minutes to spare, finding a seat next to the Daisy Dukettes. There are sixteen chairs set in a semi-circle facing the front of the barn, with the kitchen stations behind us. Fallon and I are on the far left.
“Hi.” Sonia squeezes my forearm. “Are you excited for today? You two have been doing so well all week! I heard the Texas boys say you two were the couple to beat.”
A bolt strikes my chest at the thought of Fallon and me being a couple. I glance at the opposite end of the semi-circle, where two big, burly Texans are sitting with their arms folded and wide, friendly smiles on their faces.
Reg catches me looking, his face morphing into a scowl. When I jerk back, he winks.
Okay, then. Maybe everyone in this competition is insane.
Fallon squeezes my thigh, almost in the same spot he did this morning. “They got nothin’ on us, Jen.” His lips brush the shell of my ear as my eyes flutter closed.
That feels way, way too good.
Heat floods through me, and when Fallon takes his hand away it feels like he’s taking all the warmth in the room with him. The imprint of his palm stays burned into my jeans, and I find myself clenching my hands into fists to stop rubbing the spot he touched. I could trace the outline of his fingers by memory, because it feels branded on my skin.
