"So, what are you making?"
He stares at me another second, not even attempting to hide his shit-eating grin."You'll like this," he finally says, ripping open the fridge.
"Why's that?"
"Because it's pretty much a salad blended to a pulp."
I purse my lips at his attempt to tease me. "Is it good?"
"Honestly?" he asks, pulling out a bag of kale and a carton of almond milk. "It tastes like ass, but it's all I'm supposed to drink before a shoot."
"A shoot?"
"Yeah, that's our last stop. I have a photoshoot for Tom Ford in… fifty-three minutes."
I'm instantly taken back to that night at the gala when his cologne invaded my senses in the best possible way. Suddenly the space between us feels more like inches than feet, his bare kitchen backlit by the glow of red accent lighting. The mood shifts, but only to me.Why couldn't Ihave waited until after all this to decide to keep it in my pants. Regardless of the timing, my body can't seem to forget that night, and I have to check myself before I beg him to relive it.
I swallow down the words that threaten to escape the same way they did ten months ago.
Kiss me.
"What's in it?" I ask instead.
Drew points to the two ingredients on the island. "Just this, protein powder, and a banana. Sometimes I add other stuff depending on what I'm feeling."
I wince. "That sounds kind of terrible."
"Yep." Drew pushes up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, and I beg myself to look anywhere but his black and gray tattoos. "It helps if you pretend it's a mint chocolate chip milkshake."
"Does it?" I ask, actively fighting my wandering eyes.
"Well, you can tell me yourself." He takes a few steps toward the cabinets and grabs two glasses from the bottom shelf.
"Oh, no. I'm okay. I'm not really hungry."
He sets them both on the counter next to the appliance. "You're leaning in, remember. Plus, you haven't eaten since you picked at a bowl of fruit and called it breakfast.Thisis your sustenance."
Heat grows between my legs as my smutty brain interprets his words as an "eat kink," and I shut it down the only way I know how. "Sorry we can't all pack away an entire day's calories in one sitting."
Drew places his palms on the counter and leans his weight into his arms. The veins that shoot up his forearm are impossible to miss, and the temperature in his apartment rises too many degrees.
"Well, now you know why," he says, completely unaware of his effect on me. "We're about to make the only other thing I can eat until tonight, and even then, it's the night before a game. I can't get too crazy."
The mention of hockey is the reminder I need to silence the sex-deprived parts of me just enough.This is work."Well, we better make this the best damn milkshake you've ever had then."
Moving next to him, I pick up the kale and grab a handful from the bag. "One scoop of ice cream," I say, dropping the leafy greens into the pitcher.
Drew smiles, shaking his head, before grabbing a banana from the hook on the counter. Peeling it, he breaks it off in chunks, dropping them in one at a time until the whole thing is sitting on top of the kale. "Two scoops," he says, a cheesy smile on his face.
I tip my chin down confidently before grabbing the milk. I unscrew the lid and hover it over the blender. "I guess milk can still be milk?" I ask.
Drew nods through a laugh, moving his palm to the bottom of the container. His hand grazes mine on its journey, and I thank God his massive grip is holding the weight of the carton I would have otherwise let slip through my fingers from his touch.
He lifts it slowly, the creamy liquid falling from the spout in an oddly erotic way, or maybe it just seems like that because of how he looks at me as he does it. His eyes are locked on mine, and for a second, I almost forget that we're making a green smoothie and not undressing each other.
When he tips the milk back, I snap to the moment, looking around the kitchen.
"Vanilla?" I ask.
