“Oh my God, I hate you,” Yasmin groans, burying her face in her hands.
“That’s not what you were saying five minutes ago?—”
“Okay!” I interrupt, my voice climbing several octaves. “Okay, okay, okay. We’re done. This conversation is over. I’m leaving. I’m going to walk backwards out of this apartment, get in my time machine, and travel to a dimension where I never saw Zeke’s bare ass.”
“It’s a great ass, though,” Zeke says thoughtfully. “Very sculpted. Hours of squats. You should feel honored.”
“I’m going to murder you,” I tell him flatly.
“Get in line,” Yasmin mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips now, and her cheeks are flushed in a way that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
I look between the two of them—Zeke still grinning like an idiot, Yasmin trying and failing to look annoyed—and despite the absolute mortification still coursing through my veins, I can’t help but feel something warm for both of these idiots.
Yasmin lookshappy.I mean, she also looks like she just got run through a car wash, but it was a happy wash. She’s needed something like this, a fun golden retriever of a man like Zeke. Brandon wasn’t just a black cat; he was a blackhole,just a lifeless vortex of fun-sucking doom, and he stole years of her life he didn’t deserve.
This is… Maybe this is good.
“Well,” Yasmin says, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt, “you might as well stay, since you’re already here. The worst of the mortification is over with.”
“Is it, though?” I ask, still dubious.
“Definitely not,” Zeke confirms cheerfully. “I’m a multiple rounds kind of stud, as Yazzy here can attest to. But we can all power through the lull together. I’ll make dinner.”
“You cook?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He gives me a scathing look. “I’m literally a Michelin-starred chef.”
“Right. Yes. Of course you are.” I press my palms against my eyes. “Sorry. My brain is still rebooting from the trauma.”
“Come on.” Yasmin grabs my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. “Let’s get you some wine. You look like you need it. God knows I do.”
Zeke follows us, still shirtless, which I’m choosing to ignore for the sake of my sanity. He starts rummaging through Yasmin’s fridge while she pours me a very generous glass of pinot grigio.
“So,” I say, taking a large gulp, “this is happening.”
“This is happening,” Yasmin confirms as she perches on a barstool beside me. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
Zeke emerges from the fridge with an armful of ingredients. “Don’t worry, Eliana. I’ll make you something so good you’ll forget you ever saw my ass.”
“What I need is eye bleach. Mouth bleach. Bleach for the soul,” I mutter into my wine glass.
“Tsk, tsk,” scolds Zeke. “So ungrateful. Many women worldwide would’ve paid for the privilege you just enjoyed for free.”
Yasmin points a chef’s knife at Zeke and narrows her eyes. “Then ‘many women’ better keep their money in their pocket, buster. I’m not the kind of girl you mess around on.”
Zeke gulps and nods. “Yes, Chef.” Then he delicately reaches forward and pries the knife from her grasp. He has as much faith in her caution with pointed objects as I do.
I take another much-needed sip of wine and turn to Yasmin. “Okay, but seriously. How did this happen? Last I checked, you’d just given him your number for ‘recipe ideas.’”
Yasmin’s cheeks flush pink. “Well, about that… He texted me Saturday night after you left. Then we started talking about food, and then it turned into talking about everything else, and then?—”
“Then I showed up at her door with takeout from Nova,” Zeke interjects as he pulls a cutting board from under the sink. “Figured she could use a good meal after dealing with stalker ex bullshit.”
“He brought me foie gras,” Yasmin says dreamily as she makes gaga eyes at her new boy toy. “And these little chocolate soufflés that were still warm.”
“And then?” I prompt, unable to help my smile.
Zeke grins as he starts chopping vegetables with impressive speed. “And then we talked until three in the morning. Tuesday, I took her to this hole-in-the-wall Korean place in Lincoln Park. Wednesday was axe throwing at my buddy’s bar, plus a little goodnight smooch. Yesterday was some over-the-pants hand stuff in the Uber home, then we got to the couch and started?—”
