I nod, stepping further into the room but still leaning against the doorframe so I don’t do something stupid like cross the space between us. “Didn’t we talk about you cooking after pasta-gate?”
She smirks, grabbing two glasses and filling them with that peach iced tea she always buys. I’ll have to figure out a way to make it for her instead because that’s 90 percent sugar. “Don’tget used to it. My culinary skills are strictly limited to heating up the incredible food my roommate cooks.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, moving toward the counter, the warmth from the stove spilling over onto my skin. She ladles the curry onto both plates, then the rice too, and slides one in my direction. Her fingers brush mine when I take it, and it’s nothing, but my brain’s still full of her from twenty minutes ago, and it’s enough to make my grip tighten on the plate.
“Thanks,” I manage, hoping my voice doesn’t give me away.
She looks at me for a beat, then down at her food, a flush lightly dusting her collarbones. “Good shower?”
The question is casual on the surface, but it lands like she knows—like she can somehow read the heat still under my skin. That it’s tattooed on me, somehow obvious for her to see. I clear my throat, shifting my grip on the fork. “Yeah,” I say, a little too fast. “Hot water. Did the job.”
Her lips twitch, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You look… relaxed.”
I spear a piece of chicken, forcing my attention to the food and not the fact that my mind is replaying something very muchnotsuitable for dinner conversation. “Guess I needed it.”
She hums, the sound low and knowing, and takes a bite of her curry without looking at me. But there’s a spark in her eyes when she finally glances up again, like she’s turning something over in her head.
Nick Fury chooses that exact moment to leap onto the breakfast bar, padding between our plates, looking for scraps.
“Absolutely not,” Liv says, scooping him up against her chest. “You naughty pussy.”
I forget how to swallow. Literally. The chicken just… lodges somewhere in my throat because my brain heard that word and immediately threw me into a place that has nothing to do withthe cat and everything to do with the beautiful woman in my space.
Not the cat. Definitely not the cat.
It’s her voice saying it. Her mouth shaping it. And, yeah, maybe that mouth is nowhere near my ear in real life right now, but the part of my brain still steam-fogged from the shower is not interested in reality, and I’m fighting down, not only ill-lodged food, but also my dick trying to react to her. Again. This is no good at all.
I cough into my fist like that’ll help, grabbing for my water before she notices the way my grip on the fork’s gone white-knuckle.
“You alright over there?” she asks, eyes wide in that faux-concerned way that makes it impossible to tell if she’s actually worried or just enjoying the show.
“Fine,” I manage, though my voice cracks halfway through, which is not ideal for credibility.
Her mouth curves as she pets the cat, still murmuring to him. “See what you’ve done? Corrupting the poor man during dinner.”
The cat blinks at me like he’s in on the joke. It wouldn’t surprise me that Liv would find an animal that’s her in feline form. But the way both of their glittering eyes are assessing me, I’d say they’re trying to get me to crack on something they should know nothing about.
If shedoessuspect anything… I’m not sure I could lie convincingly enough to save myself.
Chapter twenty-two
Jay
Asmyfeetthudagainst the concrete, I try to run off the tightness in my shoulders, the leftover sting from the rejection email. Not even for my dream job, but I applied on a whim last week, and it would be something better than the purgatory I’m stuck in now.
I cut around the park, breath puffing out in uneven bursts, when my music cuts off mid-verse. A call flashes across my watch screen.Mom.
Slowing my pace, I tap my earbud. “Olá.”
“Meu filho!” she says, her voice warm enough to cut through the damp chill in the air. “Finalmente atendes o telefone.”You finally answer the phone.
I grin despite myself. “Mãe, I spoke to you last week.”
“Dois dias é muito tempo,”two days is a long time,she insists. “Tell me, what are you doing for Thanksgiving this year?”
“Hudson and Daphne will probably have something going on. Liv too,” I say before thinking, and there’s a pause on the other end.
“Liv?” she repeats, her tone immediately changing to that high, suspicious lilt I know too well. “The roommate, yes?”
