“Because you like partying. You’re fun and interesting, and I’m boring.”
“You’re not boring.”
I scrunch my lips up. “Yes, I am.”
He flicks his gaze over me. “Maybe I like boring.”
The room spins. My face gets far too hot again.
“I like you. And your gorgeous blue eyes.”
Is the heating on? It’s so hot in here.
“I should warn you, though. I am shallow as fuck. I love a pretty face, and yours is—” He does a chef’s kiss.
I press my hands over my face.
“Don’t hide,” he whispers, his voice suddenly very close to me. He curls his hands around my wrists and prises my hands away from my face. “I won’t be able to stare into your clear blue eyes if you do.”
I whimper. He’s just trying to get into my pants. “You’re a love them and leave them kind of guy?”
He hesitates for a moment. “I always have been.”
God help me, I don’t care. He’s gorgeous and fun to be around. Even if it’s all a lie, he makes me feel special and beautiful. I should have worn a T-shirt saying ‘Take me, I’m yours’, because I’m sure I’d give myself to him if he asked. Is he going to ask? My heartbeat races as if I’ve just finished running a marathon.
“That’s better,” he says, letting go of my wrists. “Don’t hide, Emory. In any sense of the word.”
What does he mean by that? I stare at him as he turns away and continues cooking.
I need to make sense of my feelings. If Auggie has been able to turn my head so easily, does that mean I’m not in love with Casey? Am I infatuated with my best friend because he’s safe? It’s not as if the desire to kiss Auggie has eclipsed my feelings for Casey. I want them both, which makes things complicated, to say the least.
“Food’s ready.”
I blink at Auggie. Did I lose track of time while I was lost in my thoughts? I inhale. A rich and smoky scent hits my nostrils.
“Would you mind carrying the glasses?” Auggie asks.
I pick up two glasses of water and take them into the sitting room. Auggie follows with two plates heaped with spaghetti carbonara.
“It smells delicious.” I take my plate from him and balance it on my knees.
“I hope you like it.”
I twirl some spaghetti around my fork, blow across it, and then taste it. It’s rich and creamy. The bacon has a deep, smoky taste. “Wow. This is amazing. It tastes familiar but different. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s spaghetti carbonara plus plus.”
“Plus plus?”
“Like Newspeak in1984by George Orwell. They did away with useless words like superlatives and replaced them with ‘plus plus’. So instead of beautiful, something would be nice plus plus.”
“Huh. Okay. That’s weird.”
“It was a way of controlling the people, which isn’t what you’re doing with dinner. I’m sorry. I’m making no sense at all. I’m trying to say I like it, but I can’t put my finger on why it tastes so much better than any other spaghetti carbonara I’ve had before. What did you put in it?”
He taps the side of his nose. “That’s my secret. I like to experiment with food flavours. Taking familiar dishes and doing something new with them.”
I twirl more pasta onto my fork. “You succeeded. You must enjoy cooking.”
“I love it. It’s a lot more fun than pharmacology.”
