“Sure,” he answers as he opens the front door. “I need to change as well. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
Nodding, I go past him up to the bedroom and find a clean, comfortable dress. As I’m getting changed, I hear the water start up down the hall and realize Dan’s in the shower.
Standing in front of the mirror with my clean dress in my hands, I stare at myself and let my mind wander. I imagine Dan standing behind me, his hard body pressed up against me, and his arms curling around my waist as his big hands reach for my breasts.
My eyes close, and a vision of him under the water fills my mind, his huge, hard muscles sheened under the spray, white foamy bubbles spreading under his fingers as he soaps up his massive chest and flat stomach.
Warmth creeps up my thighs, and I give in to the moment, imagining his hot, wet lips on mine. Sensation streaks through me, and I have to press my thighs together, almost dropping my dress.
My eyes snap open, and I lock on to my own gaze in the mirror, giving myself a stern glare.
Stop it right now. This is fun, but you don’t know this guy. You can’t just jump into the shower with him.
I turn away from the mirror, putting on my clean dress and trying to ignore the heat in my nipples and the throbbing between my legs.
After brushing my hair, I hurry downstairs, completely ignoring the sound of running water and refusing to think about Dan soaping himself up underneath it. It takes an extreme mental effort, but I put all my focus on making a sweet tomato sauce and manage to forget about Dan in the shower.
I’m so caught up in what I’m doing that I don’t even notice him coming in behind me, and when I turn around, I jump and shriek in surprise.
“Oh, sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, holding my chest as I get my breath back. “I was lost in my own little world. Just thinking too hard.”
“About?”
Your sexy, hard body.
“Pasta sauce,” I answer.
“Okay,” he says, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Show me how this is done. I’m ready to learn the mystery that is cooking.”
“Well,” I say, trying not to giggle. “It all started thousands of years ago, when humans discovered fire.”
“Oh,” he says, chuckling. “I didn’t realize there was so much study involved.”
“Not for most people,” I reply. “But for you, we might need the full education.”
“I’m here for it,” he says.
We go over to the stove, and I begin explaining the different amounts of herbs and how they affect the flavor of the sauce. Even though he listens intently, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t get any of it.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say. “You put the pasta on, and I’ll make a salad, okay? That should be fairly simple for you.”
“Okay,” he says. “Should I butter some rolls as well?”
“If you like,” I reply. “I’ll be right over here if you need help.”
No one on earth should need help to cook pasta. This is idiot-proof.
A few minutes later, when I’m outside picking rocket leaves from the garden, those words come back to me as smoke begins to pour out of the kitchen window.
“What the fuck?” I yell, racing back into the kitchen to see Dan holding the saucepan high over the stove as he bats desperately at the flames.
“It just caught fire,” he says. “I don’t know what happened.”
I go over to him and look into the pot.
“It’s completely boiled dry. You must have had it on the highest burner—and it would have started sizzling before it caught. Didn’t you notice?”
