I grab her a glass and fill it, sliding it across the counter to her. I watch her throat bob as she swallows and have to look away before my imagination gets the best of me.
“What are you prepping?” she asks as I take a pot and fill it with water, tossing in some salt.
“Pesto pasta. Well,technically,it’s not pesto, but it’s close. Don’t tell Ruby, or she’ll give me a lecture on proper Italian cuisine. Pine nuts can be pricey, and this has more protein, so it’s more filling.”
I grab cottage cheese and spinach from the fridge, then a cutting board, a red onion, and a head of garlic.
Mikey’s nose crinkles when she looks at the ingredients.
“Don’t worry, the cottage cheese adds a creamy, cheesy taste to the sauce. I’m not leaving it lumpy.”
“If you say so. You haven’t steered me wrong with food yet. I’m interested to see how something that’s not baked goods tastes.”
I point the knife at her teasingly. “Hey, Icancook, remember? I just choose to let Ruby do it because she’s better at it, and I love baking more.”
“I guess I’ll be the judge of that, big guy.”
Fuck me,but this easy banter is sexy. I feel content with her here, on my stool, in my kitchen. I could do this every day. I can’t stop the grin overtaking my face, even though my eyes burn from chopping the onion.
By the time everything is diced, the water is boiling, so I toss in the noodles and set some Italian sausages in the air fryer.
“All right, how many questions do we have left?” I ask as I throw the ingredients into my blender.
“Fifteen?”
“Sounds about right. Do you want to go first or should I?”
“Take it away, baker man.”
I turn on the blender to add to the suspense. The truth is, I have more than fifteen questions for her, and I can't decide on one. Though, there is something I’ve been curious about since Merv mentioned it in passing.
“What’s the story with your most recent ex?”
12
Iwasn’t expecting him to ask about my ex, and I’m not sure how much I want to tell him. Why would he assume there’s a story there? My ex was kind of a piece of shit, and I’m embarrassed by the way he treated me and the things he said. I hate that I didn’t stand up for myself at the time.
I could kick myself for staying with him as long as I did.
He was my first serious adult relationship. Before him, my experience was reduced to handsy boys who wanted to touch me in private but not be seen with me in public. I was never asked to go to school dances because I was always seen as one of the guys, and the crushes I had were never reciprocated. I misread a lot of situations where I had feelings for someone and he didn’t return them. When I graduated, I was so busy focusing on trade school dating took a back seat. Then, Dad died, and I was too lost in my grief to think about a romantic relationship.
“Do you want the long answer or the short answer?” I hedge, hoping he’ll choose the short answer but knowing he’ll want the long one. This man is intent on worming his way through my walls.
Saint turns to dip a measuring cup in the pot of boiling pasta before pouring the steaming liquid into the blender. “Long, obviously.”
“Blend that first, then I’ll tell you.”
He turns on the blender, and I watch the ingredients mix into a vibrant green sauce. When it’s thoroughly mixed, he shuts it off, and without breaking eye contact, he dips his finger in the sauce and brings it to his lips. He sucks it off and hums before grabbing some spices and sprinkling them into the blender.
The way his lips wrap around his finger shouldn’t be erotic. He’s literally just making food. There’s nothing sexual about it.
Except…
I heardsomethingearlier. Something that sounded a lot like groans of pleasure. When I came out of the bathroom, I figured I’d find him in the kitchen prepping for tomorrow or something. But when I started walking, I heard the faint sound of skin on skin and some mumbled words I couldn't make out.
I tripped over the coffee table because my mind was picturing Saint with his cock in his hand. Then I started wondering if his cock matches the size of the man.
And now I’m thinking about it again.
