“Looks like you’ve got it all covered.”
He flashes a quick smile. “Maybe once you’ve unpacked, you’ll change your mind.” He glances down for a fraction of a second. “Cute socks.”
Cute socks?
I’d be mortified if I cared what he thought of me.
Which I don’t.
But couldn’t I at least try not to look peak gremlin mode?
Without another word, he turns and struts away.
It takes me a second to pull my gaze away from him, striding down the hall—jeans hugging his ass perfectly, back muscles flexing with each step—to slip into my room.
I set the tray half on the table, and my phone buzzes in my pocket.
“You were supposed to text me when you got back.” Tess’s face fills the screen again, just like she fills all the spaces she steps into. “Are you good?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes. I’m back in the room, and look—”
I flip the camera and lift the lid off the food. Steam rises, carrying the scent of garlic and thyme, and ridding the last traces of him.
Good.
The last thing I need is him invading my dreams.
“I got room service.”
“That looks old school delicious.”
“I’m sure it is.” I sit on the chair and set my phone against the lamp.
The screen tilts, catching my half-unpacked bed.
“Now that you’re in for the night. Two things.” Two fingers rise from where Tess is cupping her pink coffee mug embedded in rhinestones.
I rip a biscuit in half and drag the knife through the butter.
“How are you this bossy even with miles between us?” I tease.
“One. Have you looked up Cash Can Cook?”
My body warms.
Part irritation.
Part hunger.
Part something I don’t want to name.
“No.”
“But he’s—”
“Famous. So you’ve said. Multiple times.” The butter melts on contact.
“I think you two got off on the wrong foot.” Her fingers tap her mug. “If you just understood his cooking channel—”
