My eyes lock on his mouth as he speaks while simultaneously letting go of me and signing.
“I’m sorry, Bayleigh.”
“It’s okay.” I manage to speak through deep breaths, my hand over my heart as I try to calm myself.
“I wasn’t thinking. Forgive me?” He gives me a pouty, puppy dog face, and I can’t help but smile.
“Yes.” I come up on my toes, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kiss him. Soft at first, but then deeper. My lips part, allowing his tongue to slip through them, moving against my own.
When we finally break apart, he looks at me as if I hung the moon. “I’m going to shower. Be back soon.”
I smile, and when he turns and walks away, I make sure to watch his ass. It’s a nice one. And that’s when Milton and Korbin decide to come through the back door, catching me in the act. Korbin gives me a wink as he drops his gym bag on the floor and takes off his shoes.
He doesn’t say anything. He just looks in my direction. We’ve been cordial; he’s not been rude, but there’s still this tenseness between us. Other than when we’re all together, he doesn’t speak much, and we’ve only had a couple of conversations via text. Yet, I sense something softening between us.
I turn around to the counter, pick up the knife and go back to chopping the potatoes and vegetables in front of me. TonightI’m making dinner. I messaged them earlier and told them I was tired of takeout and wanted to cook for them. I’m not the greatest, like my mom, but she taught me a few tricks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Korbin moving up to the sink, a plastic container and cup in his hand, brushing my shoulder faintly as he does so. My pulse stutters at his closeness. His peach and honeydew scent overpowers me, filling me with warmth. His presence, the steadiness, knots my stomach tightly, and I can't quite look in his direction, opting to steal glances of him out of the corner of my eye.
He doesn’t tap me on the shoulder, try to speak to me, or use any of the few signs that he’s taken the time to learn. Instead, he starts washing the container and cup, a faint tick present in his jaw.
I take a deep breath, wondering if he hears it. If he’s even paying attention to me as he turns the water on and starts washing the dishes in his hand. But he doesn’t stop there; he washes the ones sitting in the sink as well.
My fingers grip the knife tighter than necessary.
Too tight.
My breath shortens, shallow and fast.
Milton steps to the other side of me, his body flush against mine, and my pulse quickens. He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body against mine. He opens the cabinet in front of me and rummages for a snack.
My traitorous body reacts, and I can smell my perfume getting stronger. Does he smell it? He’s not acting like he does. Or does it not affect him?
A million questions are jumbled in my brain, and I can’t focus. Not with him here, this close to me.
Carrots. I need to cut the carrots next.
Focus on the cutting board. On anything except the man at my side.
But my hands won’t stop shaking.
Then it happens; the knife slips.
I gasp, involuntary—more startled than pained. Bright red wells instantly, a bead of blood plumping along the cut before it trails downward.
“Shit—” bursts from me as I jerk my hand back.
It’s not deep, not dangerous, but it bleeds fast, running along the curve of my knuckle. My heart rate spikes even more as embarrassment crashes over me harder than the ache in my finger. My anxiety floods hot and thick, throat tight.
Korbin transforms from being a bystander to jumping in, taking charge, his alpha dominance seeping from his every pore.
He takes hold of my wrist, pulling my hand so it’s under the faucet. I can feel his warm breath on my neck as he cleans my finger.
My eyes drift upward to look at his face, and I catch the words he’s saying.
“Fucking knives don’t need to be that damn sharp.” He opens the drawer to the side of us and pulls out a dishtowel, wrapping it around my finger, applying pressure as he guides me over to the table.
My eyes stay on his mouth, confused about his genuine concern for me.
