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She's going to be the death of me.
I shook my head and focused on the food. Joanne wasn't someone that I could have, even if I wanted her. She was going to be leaving to go back home as soon as she cleaned up her mom's place. Besides, it's not like I'm ready to settle down
. And I'm sure she doesn't feel the same way about me.
We were friends. That meant there are certain lines that should never be crossed. I didn't want to mess up my friendship for one night of feeling good. I'd rather have Joanne back in my life, even if my body ached for her in ways it had never ached for anyone else.
Chapter 5
Joanne
I dug into the food with a ferocity I didn't know I possessed. The steak was so well cooked it melted on my tongue and I hummed happily. When I opened my eyes I found Peter staring at me. He'd been doing that all day and every time I caught him I felt my entire face heat up.
"What?" I mumbled with a mouth full of food.
"You're really enjoying that," he said as he took another bite of his own food.
"How could I not? You got older and learned how to cook. This is so good. Usually, I eat whatever the chef prepares at my job or I get take out and go home. I forgot how delicious simple food can be."
"Simple?" He raised a brow. "I feel like I should be insulted."
I quickly shook my head. "No way! Simple isn't a bad thing. People out there are so over the top with everything and usually it's all organic this, low fat that. I forgot how good a piece of meat basted in butter and herbs could taste."
Peter smiled at my compliments. "You sure know how to pump up a man's ego."
I waved a hand. "I wouldn't be saying it if it wasn't true. Could I have a bit more?"
Peter took my plate. "I'll get it for you."
"I could do that," I protested.
"Why don't you grab a bottle of wine and pour some for us instead? I was going to have some with dinner anyway but I wasn't sure if you'd stopped drinking."
I chewed my lip. I had stopped drinking for a long time. When we were younger I'd taken to it and loved it, but when I saw myself behaving like my mother, I knew I had to put it down. Thankfully, I'd learned how to drink a little and enjoy it and I realized my fear was unfounded. I wasn't an alcoholic, I was just afraid to end up like her.
"I started back a while ago. Just a little here and there, but I'll definitely take a glass tonight. It was a long trip."
Peter pointed out the drawer that held the bottle opener. I slipped it out and found the wine. After a small fight and loud pop, I managed to release the cork from the bottle and poured both of us generous glasses of wine.
We settled back down at the table until we finished our food. By the time my plate was cleaned, I was stuffed and ready to curl up for the night. Usually, at home, I'd be hidden underneath a blanket and would probably pass out in about five minutes. With Peter around, I wanted to catch up and know how his life was going.
"Let's go sit in the living room," Peter said as he cleared the table and placed the dishes in the dishwasher. "I'll start up a fire and we can catch up."
"You read my mind," I said. "Let's do it."
We wandered into the living room and I settled onto a fluffy couch and snagged a blanket that was folded on the armrest. I'd never tell him, but his place was way more organized and clean than mine was. I tended to throw things to the side and deal with them later, but his place was meticulously set up and wonderful.
I could get used to this.
I watched Peter as he kneeled in front of the fireplace and stacked the wood carefully inside. His big, rough hands caught my attention and held it as he struck a match and started a fire. The warmth blazed up and he stood, grabbed his glass and joined me on the couch.
He sat so close I could feel the heat off of him more than I could feel the heat from the fire. I watched his hand as it ran over his beard and it took everything not to stare at his lips.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I chalked it up to exhaustion and too much wine.
He leaned forward and shed his flannel shirt exposing his tanned, muscled arms. I wanted to reach over and touch them, trail my fingers down his flesh. I swallowed thickly at my own thoughts and tipped up my wine glass to stave off those thoughts.
