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So, why the hell can’t I stop thinking about this girl?
It doesn’t matter how much I avoid her, she's always there. Then, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back when she sat next to me at dinner. Yeah, I’m fully aware it was the only seat available, but that doesn’t lessen how much I didn’t need that can of worms opened. Like I needed to know how good she smelled. I swear it sounds like I’m pigeonholing her, but if I had to imagine what a Japanese geisha smelled like, it would be exactly like her. All exotic and flowery and so fucking sweet. It took every ounce of strength I had not to bury my nose in her neck and breathe deep like I needed it to survive.
I tried to casually get away, but no, Tiny’s ass couldn’t wait to throw me under the bus. At least I had the wherewithal to tell the girl in no uncertain terms that we would never happen. Not in a million years.
Only I needed to know it was because we worked together. That I was her godforsaken boss. While I may get off on dominance, it’s always with consent. And this girl didn’t ask me to be her boss. Not to mention that I don’t do relationships. Never have, never will, and she just screams forever.
That alone should have me running for the hills, not slinking around the station with my nose in the air scenting her like a damn bloodhound.
What the fuck is wrong with me?!
“Is something burning?”
I jump in astonishment because speak of the fucking Devil.
I’m almost at a loss. Not so much because it’s her, but because she spoke. I only heard that sweet little voice one time when she first started and she introduced herself, but somehow I forgot. How could I have possibly forgotten that angelic voice?
Jesus Christ!
Everything about her screams submissive and sends my mind into a whirlwind of possibilities.
“Uh… no. Why?”
She giggles, and of course, it’s as sweet as pie.
“You’ve got your nose in the air like you’re searching for something burning.”
Honey, you know what’s burning right now?
My freaking pussy!
And how did I not notice the very thing I was looking for?
I try to nonchalantly lean in to sniff, and of course, she notices.
“Oh! Is it me? I’ve been cooking, but I didn’t think I burnt anything.”
Shit!
And that’s another strike for her and against me. The girl makes phenomenal food. Everything from homemade ramen, not the stuff in the plastic packaging, to country-fried steak. It’s like God sent this girl to test me, and I’m failing abysmally.
Ignoring her comment, I sniff and realize she doesn’t smell like she usually does. In fact, she smells like chiles and adobo.
“What are you making?”
That makes her look down shyly. “Um… I heard your favorite is tamales, so I thought I’d try my hand.”
I huff for two reasons. One, if this girl thinks to impress me with Mexican food, she’s got a huge wall to leap in order to improve upon my Abuela’s cooking. Two, why is she making my favorite?
I keep the first to myself. “Why? Are you trying to impress me?”
She gasps. “Oh no, I very much doubt I can make a dish like this better than you. No, every night this week, I’ve been trying to make everyone’s favorite.”
Fuck me, she’s adorable.
“I can’t cook to save my life, much to my Abuela’s shame, so anything you make will be head and shoulders better than anything I would ruin. There’s a reason I’m not allowed near the kitchen.”
She smirks. “What about your coffee?”
