His words were slower and still deliberate, but way more relaxed, which gave me a small hit of pride. While his stone-faced look on the rugby pitch was sexy as hell, with him here inmy apartment, I couldn’t help but be reminded again of a golden retriever.
“True. I’ve seen the Misfits in concert way more often than I’d like to admit. I don’t mean this in a rude way, but I wanted to invite you to sit, but I think you might find it easier to speak while standing.”
“A—ctually, fluency is harder with standing than it is with si—tting in a supp—ortive seat,” he said, pointing to my leather club chair.
I angled the chair toward the couch and gestured for him to get comfortable. Then had to bite a knuckle when he did.
“Something wrong?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Just enjoying the thigh spread.”
He looked down at the fabric stretching across his massive muscles and grinned. “Sorry, Sev. Can’t be helped.”
He’d started calling meSevin our DMs and I didn’t hate it.
I sat facing him, our knees touching. “I don’t know if it’s okay to say, but your stutter is not nearly as bad as you’d made it out to be.”
“Well, you di—dn’t hear me at Meadow & Vine. I was a mess.”
“Were you really that nervous?”
“I was a little nervous, but when I rounded the corner and saw how hot you were, I was a goner.”
“Am I not hot now?” I asked, gesturing at myself.
He laughed. “No, you’re still hot.Trust. But our first date was so bad it kinda burned out most of the nerves I might’ve had around you.”
“Ouch. And fair.”
There was a bit of an awkward silence until he took a deep breath and rubbed his thighs.
“I like your apartment. You have way better taste in decorating than Tyler does,” he said, gesturing to the framed and matted movie posters on the wall.
“I may have a small obsession with horror movies. And ferns.”
“I’m impressed you can keep something alive. I’ve killed more plants than I care to admit.”
I tsk’d. “Do I want to know who Tyler is?”
“My straight, supportive best friend and roommate. He thinks you’re hot, too, by the way.”
I laughed. “Good to know.”
“So, you still like cooking for people, even after a long day of cooking for other people?”
I grinned. “I’d be a really shitty chef if I didn’t.”
“Your hours must be so insane.”
“When I was first starting out, yes. I used to be a line cook for Sweetwater Café, and those hours were horrible. Now I work with my friend at his high-end restaurant, so I’m out by midnight most nights, not four o’clock in the morning.”
“Nice. Most of my days are spent working out, practicing, and eating.”
“Do you usually work out with your team?”
“Yep. The practice pitch has a nice facility and saves me from having to keep up with a gym membership.” He reached out and ran a finger up a vein on my arm. “You clearly work out.”
I shivered, loving that he was willing to put his hands on me. “Some of that is from making bread. But, uh, yeah. I like working out.”
