I need to get laid.
“Mikey? You good?”
“Hm? Yeah. Super.”
Saint stares at me like he can read my mind, and I simply want to die. Is it possible he can hear the lascivious thoughts passing through my head?
“Do you mind washing your hands?” He nods towards the kitchen sink, and I head in that direction.
I take the moment with my back turned to him to mentally scold myself for thinking dirty thoughts about this man who has been nothing but a gentleman. I bet he’s even a gentleman in the bedroom, too. Always making sure his partner is taken care of, giving them lots of orgasms before he makes slow, sweet love to them while peppering their face with gentle kisses.
Boring…
Definitelynotsomething I’d like.
I focus on scrubbing my hands, suddenly feeling entirely out of place with my stained coveralls in this pristine kitchen. I feel like with one wrong move, I'll contaminate the entire place.
After I’ve rinsed off all the suds, I dry my hands with a paper towel and turn to find Saint carefully slicing through a rolled up light pink cake filled with some type of cream.
I watch as he meticulously places sliced strawberries on top of the roll in the shape of a heart. “This is a rosé cake roll with a strawberry filling. It’s my first time baking something with this type of alcohol, so you’ll have to tell me how I did.”
I expect him to hand me a fork and let me take my own bite, but he doesn’t. No, this man slices a bite for me and holds the fork to my lips. His eyes lock on mine when I wrap my lips around the tines and pull the fruity goodness off. When I lick my lips to make sure nothing’s left, his eyes drop to my mouth and track the movement.
Is it hot in here?
The delicate flavor of the strawberry cream pairs nicely with the rosé. The cake is spongy but not too dense, and the cream is light and fluffy.
Damn, is everything he makes so good?
“What do you think?” Saint rasps, his voice deep in a way I haven’t heard from him. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and a dull ache forms between my thighs.
“It’s perfect. Ten out of ten, would eat the whole thing if I could.”
Saint slides the plate with the remaining slice to me. “Eat your heart out, sweetheart.”
“Seriously, though, I think the rosé pairs very nicely with the strawberry. Do you and Ruby ever make things that taste bad?”
Saint covers the rest of the cake with plastic wrap and puts it in one of the fridges. “Sometimes. One time, Ruby convinced me to make a pickle cookie, and it didnotturn out great.”
“Pickles in a cookie? Why?”
“One of our regulars was pregnant and brought her own jar of pickles to put on top of our chocolate chip cookies. She said it was the best thing she’s ever tasted. Ruby thought it would be fun, but it was nasty.”
“What was nasty? Oh, no! Don’t tell me the rosé cake didn’t turn out! We need it for tomorrow,” Ruby says, rushing into the kitchen and rummaging around the fridge.
“No, Mikey gives the cake a ten out of ten. I was telling her about the pickle cookie disaster.”
Ruby scrunches her nose. “That’s why I leave the baking to you. At least it wasn’t as bad as the watermelon chicken you insisted I make.”
“Strawberry chicken is delicious, why wouldn’t watermelon work?” Saint argues back.
“Because it dilutes the flavor of the chicken, and it’s too sweet. You have to have the right balance for it, and I’m not going to experiment enough to find it.”
“Well how was I supposed to know that before we tried?”
Ruby shakes her head and gives me aget a load of this guylook. “Leave the cooking experiments to me. You can focuson the baking." She looks at me. “I assume you’re stuck here because of the storm?”
“Yes,” Saint answers for me. “She’s staying in the guest room tonight.”
