I can’t help but wonder what he’s packing. There’s nothing but a hint. I bet he’s an amazing grower. I’d love to see it.
You know, for science. Yep.
He’s shirtless, which is pretty normal. I think I can probably count the number of times I’ve seen Laiken with a shirt and they’re all when he’s at work. As soon as he steps outside, the shirt comes off, and he’s bare- chested for the world to admire.
Admire, I do. He’s not super toned. Maybe a little soft in the middle. His biceps are big, as if he used to work out. There are memories that tug just at the edge of thought, and Ithinkthat my dad and Laiken used to work out when I was younger. We’re talking like six or seven.
I might have made that up, though.
His chest is sexy with all kinds of dark, graying hair there. We’re not talking thick like a rug, but it’s there and obvious.
His face is definitely distinguished with a sexy profile with beautiful dark navy eyes and a well-shaped and always-trimmed mustache-beard combo with hair following his jawline to his hair. His cheeks are always smooth, but under his chin and neck are definitely messier. Rarely shaved.
His hair is dark brown, but it’s started silvering at the temples. Just looking at him makes everything inside me shiver with appreciation.
I like what I see. I can’t help but wonder if he likes what he sees in me. I’m still the kid. I’m still Nason’s son. I’m never going to be more than that.
Which is fine. A boy can dream, right?
Laiken slides the door open, eyeing my bag suspiciously. “You know the door is unlocked,” he says as he lets me in.
“Yeah, and you know I’m always going to wait for you to answer. Unless you’re not home. Then I’ll probably let myself in.”
He gives me an amused half smile, his eyes locked on the bag I have. “What did you bring?”
“I’m going to make dick cookies, and I need your kitchen.”
He raises an eyebrow, and it’s super sexy. I have dreams about the way he looks at me. They’re dirty and raw and?—
Not appropriate for right now unless I want to be hard in front of him.
“Dick cookies?” Laiken asks as he watches me pull out all the items and set them on his pristine counter one at a time.
When I get to the cookie cutters, I toss one to him. He catches it easily and snorts. “Jesus, Lie.”
“Mom’s home,” I explain. That’s all the explanation I need. Laiken sighs, setting down the cutter with the others.
From the corner of my eye, I watch as he examines the other five shapes, shaking his head slightly. He’s much more like Dad than Mom, though. He’s amused and willing to humor me.
“You don’t mind?” I ask.
“Nah,” he says and takes a couple steps back. “Help yourself.”
“I left some ingredients because it felt cumbersome. You have milk and eggs, right?”
Laiken leans his hip against the counter and nods. “Yep.”
I busy myself with pulling out his stand mixer and finding a few mixing bowls. He watches me. I can feel his eyes on me, though I try to ignore it as I move around his space.
I’ve used his kitchen a lot in my twenty years. Especially once I came out to Mom. Suddenly, the things she’d found cute were now feminine, and I shouldn’t be doing them. Like baking. Never mind that the three bakers on Bane are all men. One looks like your stereotypical biker, which Mom thinks is super masculine. When I point out that he’s the best baker on Kala—he’s won awards and shit—Mom says that I’mdifferent, but then quickly follows it up with ‘different doesn’t mean bad.’
It doesn’t. It means she’d rather have the same, though. Not different.
Dad always scolds her, and she’s quick to apologize, but when Dad’s not home, I prefer not to stick around and listen to her passive digs at everything about me.
And thus, when I feel like cooking something that I will inevitably burn, I use Laiken’s kitchen. I think he’s taken out an extra homeowner’s insurance policy to cover my cooking.
The one thing Icanmake successfully are my grandma’s sugar cookies with petit four frosting. No matter what shape I cut them into, they taste like childhood. They remind me of my grandma.
