Jack dumps the pasta back into the pot, pours some sauce in, and stirs everything around a few times. He scoops two heaping portions onto separate plates, handing me one before placing the other in front of the seat next to me. After refilling both of our wineglasses, he slides onto the stool.
I hold up my glass. “Thanks for cooking.”
He clinks his against mine. “I’d say anytime, but I know you’ll take that literally, so I’m not going there.”
“You learn fast.” I shovel a forkful of pasta into my mouth, not sure what to expect from a man who has never once in the past four monthsbeen seen standing in front of our stove. “Fuck. This is actually really good.”
“Did you doubt me?”
“I mean, yes?” I take another bite. “Yeah, you never should’ve made this for me. I’m going to require this meal at least once a week from this point on.”
Jack laughs and takes a swig of wine. “And how often will you be cooking?”
I shove another huge bite in my mouth to avoid answering. “At least my friends come over and cook,” I say a minute later.
“True.”
We finish the meal in mostly companionable silence, aside from my outbursts of “Damn, this is good” and “Youreallyneed to cook more” sprinkled throughout the meal. When we’re both done, I take our plates over to the sink and rinse them before stashing them in the dishwasher.
I pivot back around and meet Jack’s eyes. He’s watching me with an intensity I feel deep down in my core. It ignites a spark in my belly, catching fire when he gives me a slow grin. The spark travels south.
“You ready for bed, or do you wanna watch a movie?” Jack stands and stretches, his T-shirt rising and revealing just a peek of tummy.
“Are you asking me to Netflix and chill?” The question flies out before I can censor my wine-loosened tongue. And let’s be real, my tongue doesn’t need any help getting loose. Which is a strange visual after asking someone if they want to Netflix and chill. And thank god these thoughts are staying in my head. “A movie sounds great. Something bloody and gory.” Which will lead to my turning to Jack as I shriek in fright. “Or maybe something dumb and funny. Yes. Dumb. Funny.”
Like me!
Jack doesn’t even try to hold in his laughter. “More wine before we get settled?”
That would probably be a bad idea.
“Yes, please.” I hold out my glass for a refill.
We head into the living room, and I take my usual spot in the corner of the sectional. I’ve realized the corner is by far the best seat on a sectional, and it hasn’t escaped my notice that Jack always lets me have it. Or that I always take it.
I set my wine on the side table and wrap a soft throw blanket around my legs. I’m not really cold, but I need an extra layer of protection between me and these feelings.
Ugh. Feelings.
It was easier when Jack was all broody and silent and I could pretend like we were just roommates and there was nothing between us.
Now he’s still broody but also smiley and slightly less silent, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend like these tingles, like the steadily burning fire in my stomach, like the flutters in my chest, have nothing to do with whatever it is that’s been building.
But even though I catch him watching me every so often, even though he does all these undeniably sweet things for me, there’s still a constant wall up around Jack Thomas. I haven’t even begun to crack all his layers.
And he’s never even hinted at any sort of interest in me, because why would a man with the goodness of Jack ever be interested in me?
So I should probably lock down these tingles and flutters before I fuck things up and lose out on the best living situation I’ve ever had.
Jack plops down on the couch, not at the complete opposite endlike he does at home, but still leaving several feet of space in between us. Notably, he drapes his arm over the back of the sofa. It still doesn’t come close to touching me, but it’s there.
Oh my god. I suck at this.
Okay. Locking it down. Now. Stifle that inner fire before it singes me.
I pick up the remote from the coffee table. I flip on the TV, bring up Netflix, and search forClueless. “This okay?” I know he won’t say no. I also know it’s the kind of movie he hates.
“Sure. I haven’t seen this in forever.” He raises one eyebrow at me, as if he can see inside my head and knows what I’m doing.
