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We were interrupted by Mike, Titus’s soon to be stepfather and the owner of the diner. He looked at Hil as much as I thought he would. Although I knew that Titus’s mother was good with him having a boyfriend, I wasn’t sure how Mike felt about it. Taking our orders and returning to the kitchen, I didn’t have to find out.
“I get lonely a lot,” I told Hil when we were again alone.
“What?” he asked confused.
“You asked me to tell you something I don’t usually share. That’s it.”
Hil’s expression shifted. Maybe it was empathy. I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, it made me feel naked in front of him. I don’t know why I told him that. I just couldn’t stop myself.
“Me too,” he said, melting my heart. “I only have one friend. Dillon. And I’m only friends with him because he was my housekeeper’s son. He’s great. Don’t get me wrong. But…”
Hil’s eyes dipped in sadness. Everything in me made me want to slide next to him, pull him into my arms, and never let him go. I wanted to protect him, to make him happy. Yet, I didn’t move. I just sat there wanting to but not doing anything. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just act on how I felt?
Chapter 5
Hil
For a guy who didn’t speak much, he certainly said a lot when he did. Dinner with Cali was one of the best conversations I’ve had in my life. Seriously, Dillon was great. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. But there was something missing in our relationship and I’m not talking about sex.
Although, on that topic, I really want to have sex for the first time. More specifically, I want to have it with Cali.
When I met him, all I could think about was what it would feel like wrapped in his arms with his thick manhood inside me. But having gotten to know him, I’ve realized that there is more to him than his shockingly gorgeous body. We have a connection.
Returning to the bed-and-breakfast after a lot of conversation—by conversation, I mean that I did a lot of talking while he sat there looking angsty and beautiful—he walked me to my room and stared at me. God, did I want to invite him in. But I wasn’t even sure if I should. So, instead, I said goodnight and then laid in bed clutching my hard cock, imagining him stripping me naked and having his way with me.
The next morning, I was up at sunrise bubbling with excitement for my first cooking lesson with Cali. Staring at myself in the mirror as I got ready, I wondered what I was excited about. Whether or not he was into guys, there was no way he would be interested in a guy like me. I was awkward and weird, and around him it was like I couldn’t figure out what to do with my hands.
I was nothing special, and he was a famous, record-breaking football player who was lip-bitingly hot. I was fooling myself.
It wasn’t going to stop me, though. I couldn’t shut down what I was feeling for him if I tried. It was like he had his hooks in me. I was at his mercy. And considering the painful broken heart that would follow when I fell back to earth, my chest clenched.
Washing the thought out of my mind, I turned my focus to what I was about to do. Cali had said that he would be leaving early to get back to campus in time for class. But before he did, he would teach me the magic of scrambling eggs.
Considering how much I was looking forward to it, I wondered why I hadn’t asked someone to teach me how to cook before. I had plenty of chances. My father always hired the best chefs.
I guess there was something special about Cali teaching me. I didn’t know much about dating, but hadn’t I seen a movie where a couple fell in love taking a cooking class together? Would our meet cute be when our hands touched as we both reached for the salt? There was salt in scrambled eggs, right?
Either way, I would soon learn. And with him behind me as I cracked eggs into the pan, he’ll wrap his muscular arms around me, take my chin in his hand, and kiss my neck.
I wonder what would his hard cock will feel like pressed against my ass? I struggled to breathe as I thought about it. And when my cock fought against the zipper of my jeans, I pushed it against my body enjoying the pleasure that followed.
Pulling myself together and waiting for my erection to die down, I finished getting dressed and scurried downstairs. To my surprise, he was waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Am I late? When do you have to leave?”
“We have an hour. That should be plenty of time,” he said without the soft vulnerability that he had shown the night before. He was back to being Mr. Serious. Mr., I have the weight of the world on my shoulders. I wondered if he would want me to give him a massage.
“Are you ready to begin?” he asked me before my erection had a chance to return.
“I was born ready for this,” I told him, throwing my hands into the air like a boxer.
For the next thirty minutes, he explained how to scramble an egg. He clearly didn’t know what he was up against.
“So, you just take an egg and crack it into a bowl,” he explained.
“Wait. Does the size of the bowl matter? How do you crack an egg? Are there supposed to be so many shells in it? What if you can’t get all of the shells out? How many shells can you eat before you taste more shell than egg?”
Like I said, he had no idea.
