I glanced up—deer in the headlights. His face was incredibly expressive. His mouth curved into a sweet, meaningful smile. Now that I knew his taste and the sinful promise of his lips, my knees went rubbery. Was he asking me to eat food, or eat him?
The image of him naked, muscles rippling, his crotch covered in whipped cream popped into my mind. My cheeks caught fire. Would it be that terrible to take a little taste? On a scale of one to felony, how bad could it actually be to lap him up like a dairy cat at a fetish buffet? No strings. Just purring, licking, and maybe a very inappropriate milk mustache.
It’s not like I was in love with him. He wasn’t about to break my heart. As he’d said, we were both into casual relationships. If we were attracted to each other, then casual sex wasn’t just normal—it was healthy. Nikki would absolutely preach the gospel of dopamine and endorphins, citing studies and dropping facts. She was the smartest of my friends, so following her advice was practically self-care.
“Okay.” I spoke quickly before I could change my mind. “That would be nice. I just need to shower and change first. I can’t really cook, but I’m a good assistant.”
He smiled. “It’s okay, this is a simple meal. It’ll practically cook itself. Take your time and come up when you’re ready.”
“Sure.” My restless fingers finally found my keys. “Thanks. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting.” His tone was low and inviting.
I tried to quiet my churning stomach. This was just Sebastian, my neighbor. Okay, my mega hot neighbor, but there was no reason to go crazy about this. It was only dinner. If it ledto something else, I’d worry about it then. No building scenarios in my head.
At home, I slid off my shoes and went into the bathroom. I stripped my sweaty clothes, removed my makeup, and stepped under the lukewarm jet. I shampooed twice to remove all traces of hair spray, in case Sebastian wanted to slide his fingers through my hair.
Then I gave myself a mental slap to stop my brain from building expectations. I was acting like a silly school girl getting ready for her first date. I took pride in not being that kind of girl, yet here I was, furiously brushing my teeth and obsessing about what to wear.
This wasn’t a date. It was dinner with a neighbor. Period.
I took a couple of minutes to blow-dry my hair—one of the many reasons why I loved it short. I decided against makeup. I didn’t want Sebastian to think I was trying to seduce him.
For clothes, I went full anti-Barbie: a white T-shirt with a sequined raccoon on it and a pair of paint-stained shorts. I glanced in the mirror. This was me—the authentic me. Sebastian either liked me or he didn’t.
I hated the small voice inside my head that whispered, ‘I hope he does.’
I headed up the stairs and knocked on Sebastian’s door, ignoring my hammering heart.
“Come in,” he shouted. “I’m in the kitchen.”
I stepped inside. The mouthwatering scent of baked potatoes and fresh veggies enveloped me. I followed it straight to the kitchen.
Apart from the time I’d barged in and found him gloriously naked, I hadn’t been inside Sebastian’s home before. Now, seeing it like this, I got a glimpse of the man behind the whipped cream.
The guy loved rugs. They were everywhere—Persian, from the look of them—with intricate patterns in deep reds, greens, and ivory. The furniture was dark wood, all vintage curves and carved details. The artwork matched: moody landscapes, abstract space-themed prints, and one framed blueprint of what looked like a rocket schematic.
When I reached the kitchen, I paused. “Oh wow, is that a vintage stove?”
He chuckled. “Yep. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a retro guy.”
“I can see that now.” I glanced toward the living room, where a massive bookshelf dominated half a wall. It was jam-packed—two rows deep, books stacked sideways on top of other books. “And an avid reader, too.”
“I love books.” He tossed a potato into a bowl with the others. “Haven’t had much time to read lately, but I like having options when I do.”
“Nice.”
I liked reading too, though it had been a while. My Kindle was full, but the man had actual printed books. I didn’t even want to pretend to talk books with him. Sebastian might not know how to use a screwdriver, but his brain was NASA-grade, and I couldn’t help but feel just a little outclassed.
“Oh, my God.”
I stopped in front of the generous aquarium, where colorful fish swam through crystal clear water in a slow, graceful ballet—each one a different jewel tone. I stepped closer, admiring the setup. The tank looked surprisingly well-maintained for a bachelor pad.
“Are these betta fish?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“But I thought they couldn’t stand each other.”
