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“Answer my question.”
“What does it matter?”
“I deserve to know,” she snapped. “We’ve been doing this for years?—”
“Yes, there’s someone else.”
“And you’re serious that fast?” she asked incredulously.
“No.”
“Then I don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand it either, Kayla,” I said quietly. “But I’m not available right now. That’s the bottom line. I don’t want to ignore your text messages and dodge your phone calls. I don’t want to ghost you. I’d prefer to be straight with you.”
She was quiet.
I continued to drive, hoping that would be the end of it.
“Well…good luck.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
She hung up.
I drove the rest of the way then parked on the side of the street. Her apartment wasn’t luxurious like it should be. Despite the fact that her father had appointed her as his replacement, he didn’t pay her a salary to reflect that. It wasn’t low-end either…just not flashy.
I walked to the door and let myself in, anxious to get inside and see those beautiful eyes burn the second they met mine. She had a good poker face, but I could read all the subtleties of her expression so well after studying it since the moment I met her. I knew she wanted me—and I loved seeing just how much.
She stepped out of the kitchen to see who had entered her apartment. “You don’t knock?”
I ignored the question and walked over to her, my arms snaking around her slender body until I squeezed her fine ass in my big hands. My mouth dipped to hers, and I kissed her, pulling her into me at the same time. Her protest immediately died away, and her arms hooked around my neck, her lips hungry like she’d been thinking about me long before I’d walked through that door.
I pulled away and noticed the smell of dinner in the air. “Smells good.”
It took her a moment to recover, her eyes still in a slight haze. “Roasted chicken and potatoes.”
My hands struggled to leave her waist. “Impressive.”
She stepped back into the kitchen then pulled out the serving dish from the oven. The chicken was browned on the outside, steaming with all the juices, the potatoes in the pan along the edges. It looked like it belonged on the cover of a cooking magazine.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“It’s something I’ve always been good at.” She pulled out another pan, revealing roasted brussels sprouts.
“Chefs aren’t born. They’re made.”
“I guess I’ve always been interested in it. Folding the pages of recipes I like…trying new things.” She pulled out a couple plates from the cupboard then grabbed the silverware.
I reached out my hands. “I’ll set the table.”
She hesitated before she let me take everything.
I moved to the small dining table, big enough for just four people, and set the table for us to sit across from each other. A bottle of wine was on the counter, so I opened it and poured two glasses.
We’d never been on a date before, but we moved in rhythm like we’d lived together for years. She placed the hot dishes on the linens in the center of the table then sat down, having a sip of her wine before she did anything else.
I sat across from her, and despite how hungry I was, all I really cared about was the way she looked. She wore makeup, but not a ton of it because she was a stunning woman, a paradox because she was so gorgeous but had no idea of that truth. She wore a casual summer dress, dark blue with thin straps over her shoulders. Her hair was in soft curls, and I hoped she hadn’t spent too much time styling it because I was about to destroy it when dinner was over.
