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With a Herculean effort, I manage to focus my attention back at the Statistics material that I’m helping Summer with. We’ve had a good session, and she’s made a lot of progress. Every time her cute face scrunched up with mental effort trying to understand a particularly tricky concept, my heart thrummed with pride. Her determination is sexy.
She triumphantly slaps the surface of the table when I tell her she answered a difficult practice question right.
I beam a smile at her. “Enough statistics for one night?”
A heavy breath wooshes from her. “For a lifetime.”
I get up to stretch. “You’re gonna finish with an A in this class, I bet my goalie mask on it.”
“I don’t need that pressure, Hudson,” she says, joining me in stretching. “I don’t want to be responsible for you losing teeth.”
I chuckle and glance at her—just at the wrong moment, because she’s bending backward to stretch her back, and it’s made her shirt ride up, exposing the golden hue of her stomach and her cute little belly button.
I decide to suddenly become very, very interested in the design of her kitchen cabinets.
Summer lets out a groan as she finishes her stretch. That sound was the last thing my dick needs right now. So much of my blood flow has been pounding between my legs that I’m wondering when I’ll start to feel lightheaded.
“Is statistics supposed to make you hungry?” Summer asks.
“Want to order a pizza?” I joke.
Summer laughs. “I don’t want to be responsible for you losing your teeth or a poor pizza guy meeting an early grave.”
I walk to her kitchen to check out what she has on hand. Ground beef in the refrigerator. Canned tomatoes in the cabinets. An onion, a green pepper, some basic spices. “How about spaghetti?” I ask Summer, spotting a package of the pasta.
“We don’t have any sauce,” she says.
I grab the can of crushed tomatoes and diced tomatoes, juggling them between my hands. “We’ll make some.”
“Homemade pasta sauce, very fancy.”
I brown the beef while Summer dices up the onion and green pepper. Both of us sharing this small space, being so close that we brush together now and then going about our tasks, silently preparing a simple dinner … fuck, it feels nice. Really nice.
Too nice.
You know what? To hell with that thought.
I’m tired of constantly telling myself that I shouldn’t be enjoying spending time with Summer. Right now, I’m going to let myself enjoy this feeling. How right it feels to be doing something simple, basic … domestic with her.
I think about the reason Summer and I are doing all this: to get her ex, Sean, off her back. I can’t help but wonder what he did to lose her. How idiotic does a guy have to be to screw up a relationship with a girl like Summer? If she were mine, really mine, I’d damn sure never do anything to risk that.
Did he cheat on her? The thought makes me want to rearrange that pretty boy face of his.
Once all the ingredients are in the pot, we leave it to simmer for a little while before boiling the spaghetti. Summer goes upstairs to change, and I take a seat on the couch, trying and failing not to visualize her stripping those tight jeans off her long legs.
She comes back down wearing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. My expression darken as I take in what she’s wearing. “That’s a … big hoodie,” I say. I’m disappointed to hear the jealous edge in my own voice, but I can’t help it.
“Oh,” she says, glancing down at what she’s wearing self-consciously. “It, uh … it was Sean’s.”
My jaw clenches tight. Fuck that. “Take it off.”
Summer’s pretty lips part in surprise. “What?”
“I don’t want you wearing anything of his.” The words come out before I can register how they sound. I get up and walk to the coat rack by the front door. I wore a zip-up hoodie over. I grab it and walk back to Summer, holding it out for her. “If you’re cold, wear this.”
After a beat of looking at me silently, an unreadable expression in her eyes, she nods. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have anything of his still around. I should give it back.”
“No,” I counter. “Throw it away.”
