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“You got anything to eat?”
“One thing I know how to do is stock a fridge. I’ve got pretty much everything we need for burgers if you want.” His shrewd gaze locked on mine. “Unless you’re a vegan or something. If you are, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re in beef country. You’ll want to special order yourself some food.”
I chuckled as I finished the last of my beer. “I eat meat. My good mate is a vegan chef, though. She makes these amazing pecan patties, almost better than—”
“Do not say they’re better than the real thing.”
“I said almost. They’re different in a good way.”
He hummed in appreciation. “I can see that. Like rock is different from country.”
“Not that different. It’s rooted in the same thing.”
“Of course it is. And that’s jazz.”
Nodding, I stood and stretched, my back less sore after using those peas to ice it. I stared at the thawed and mushy bag. “Please don’t tell me we have to eat peas tonight.”
“Definitely not. They’ve got your ass print all over them.”
“You have a problem with my arse?”
Heat banked in his eyes, and Killian gave me a slow once-over. “Turn around, and I’ll tell you.”
KILLIAN
What the fuck was I doing flirting with this man? This man I’d thought was straight since the first moment I saw him perform on TV years ago. But he’d flirted first, hadn’t he? He checked me out blatantly when he got here yesterday. Or was I so hard up I’d forgotten the difference between an appreciative glance and a look of disdain?
“So, burgers, then?” I asked, trying desperately to change the subject.
“Do you want to handle the meat, or should I?”
Oh, Jesus. “I got it. Didn’t you say you wanted to shower or something?”
I stood and headed into the kitchen, needing some separation between us so I could just fucking think.
“Oh, yeah. I suppose I could...”
“Good.” Shit, I was a grumpy bastard.
He left without another word, and I stood there, hands braced on the countertop as I forced myself not to call out and tell him he could handle my meat all he wanted.
I pulled out the preformed patties I’d made yesterday and unwrapped them, letting them sit on the counter as I heated the grill pan. These burgers were always better the second day. It was a recipe I’d perfected over the last year and one I was damn proud of. As soon as the cast iron was hot, the oil near smoking, I laid each patty across the pan. The satisfying sizzle that filled the air made me smile. I could always count on cooking to center me, help me feel grounded and in control of something. Even if my life was spiraling.
As the meat cooked, I gathered up the fixings we’d need. Buns, buttered and set under the broiler to lightly toast, mayo, mustard, some jalapenos, cheese, and of course, lettuce and tomato. I didn’t know why I was going to so much trouble for Jameson. I shouldn’t have cared what he ate. It didn’t matter to me, but the thought of him having a bowl of dry cereal alone in my spare room made me feel like a real asshole.
I flipped the burgers and pulled the buns out from under the heat of the oven, then got to work slicing the perfectly ripe tomato. I even put the jalapeno slices in a bowl so he could get them without getting the juice all over his fingers. What was happening to me? I wasn’t his fucking boyfriend. This wasn’t a date. I had no one to impress.
“Get it together, Killian. Jesus.”
It was just because the guy was a rock superstar. Because I’d had every one of his albums. Because I’d been in love with the idea of him since I was a teenager.
Laying the cheese on top of my burger, I hesitated on his. For all I knew, the guy had a dairy allergy. I couldn’t slap it on there and hope he didn’t die. Could I?
The sound of footsteps on the stairs had my heart lurching.
“God, that smells really bloody good. Do you cook for all your unwanted and unannounced houseguests? If so, I’m surprised you’re not married yet.”
How had the simple act of showering made Jameson hotter? His thick golden hair was still damp and curling at the ends. Skin pink from the heat of the water, eyes bright with renewed energy.
