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“Fuck if I know. Sometimes I just leave the thing on while I fall asleep. Maybe I picked things up by osmosis.”
His wary expression says he doesn’t buy that, but too bad. Just cause I show a guy my cock doesn’t mean I’m gonna tell him all my sordid history about watching our housekeeper cook since I didn’t have friends to hang out with. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to be in a challenging mood.
“I like ‘Is It Cake?’” He carries his plate to the tiny kitchen table and takes a seat.
“What now?” I grab a beer from the fridge and follow him with my dinner.
“People make cakes that look like real objects, and you have to guess which are real and which are cake.”
“Pfft. Doesn’t sound that hard.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
My fork stops midway to my mouth as I cut Noah a suspicious look. Is he flirting with me? That’s new. And kind of intriguing.
I take my bite and wash it down with a swig of beer, grinning playfully. “Okay big guy. What do you have in mind?”
“I’m not going to bake a cake if that’s what you mean. I’ll show you an episode and you have to guess which are the cakes.”
“And if I guess correctly? What do I get?” My smile turns almost sinister as I imagine the possibilities.
“Bragging rights?” He has the good sense to look a little wary.
“Uh, uh. I want another dinner.” I toss him a softball, mostly because if I go straight to the good stuff I won’t get a home-cooked meal, but I can be creative in showing my appreciation if he cooks for me again.
“I only know how to make a few things.”
“You don’t cook like this for yourself all the time?”
His head swivels back and forth. “I have someone make meals for me. Mostly lean proteins that keep me in top shape, not comfort food like this.”
I have a brief flashback to sitting at the kitchen island as a kid, a steaming bowl of Rose’s homemade ramen in front of me. Most people probably don’t think of Japanese cuisine as comfort food, but to me… Let’s just say it’s one of the happier aspects of my childhood.
“Tripp?” Noah’s voice jolts me out of the memory. “You good?”
“Of course.” I take a pull from the bottle to wet my dry throat. “So, even if you only know how to make a few things, that’s plenty for one more dinner.”
“You’re so sure you can spot the cakes?”
I run my fingertip around the opening of the bottle. “I am.”
The corner of his lip tugs up with a soft chuckle. “Alright then. What do I get if I win?”
“What do you want?” I tip my chair back and prop my feet on the one next to it, settling in for what promises to be an entertaining conversation.
“Um.” He looks at his food and takes a bite, as if that could hide the fact his face is starting to look like a tomato, which on a Thor lookalike is actually not a bad look. Then he takes another bite, clearly struggling with how to say what he wants.
“Oh, my poor, sweet Noah.” He glances up just in time to see me lick my lips. “You do know I put out without having to lose a bet first, right?”
He gives a curt nod and looks back at his plate.
“Why go through this whole bet thing then? What is it you’re afraid to say?”
“What if… What if last night was a fluke?”
“You think I can’t make you come two nights in a row?” I arch a brow as his eyes snap to mine, confirming what I already suspected. He came last night.
“Can you?”
