“The fact that you have no food in your refrigerator other than this juice, a carton of milk and what looks like an apple with something growing on it. Maybe it isn’t an apple. It could be a tomato, or was a tomato.”
I take a drink to ward off a smile. “I get take-out most nights.”
“I did too when I was your age.” He arches a dark brow.
I try to keep my eyes trained to his face, but the man has a six-pack and a trail of dark hair that dips below the waistband ofhis pajama pants. Even though I’ve already seen what’s hidden under the fabric, I sense the uptick in my heart rate just from thinking about what his cock looks like. I also feel my nipples harden.
Maybe Kate was right about that photographic memory thing.
I shake off the thought. “When you were my age? You’re not that much older than I am.”
“I’m thirty-two.”
I know that. Maya told me a lot about him when she was trying to get me to agree to have dinner with him. He went to high school with Julian. I did the math.
“I’m twenty-five,” I offer although I have a feeling that’s not a surprise to him.
“I know,” he confirms with a nod of his head. “When I was twenty-five I survived on burgers and fries.”
“I prefer salads,” I lie with a smile. I don’t think Sebastian cares what I eat, but for some inexplicable reason, I want him to see me as someone other than a woman who chows down on greasy burgers and dozens of fries whenever a craving strikes.
I’m taking full advantage of my rapid metabolism while I can.
“Don’t get me wrong.” He takes another sip from his glass. “I still eat junk food more than I should, but I supplement with fruits and vegetables.”
His large hand falls to his rock hard stomach. “I made a vow to myself that I’d stay in shape for at least another decade or two.”
My gaze follows the motion of his hand. Every move he makes is mesmerizing. I should remind him of our rule about being fully dressed when in a common area, but I’d rather stare in silence at his muscular arms and chest.
“I can’t promise I’ll be around most nights, but we can split the cooking duties if you want.”
“No,” I say, laughing. “I can’t.”
“You can’t?” he asks, setting his empty glass in the sink. “Or you won’t? If you don’t cook because you hate the cleanup, I’ll load the dishwasher.”
I look down at the front of the stainless steel dishwasher. “I don’t know if it works. I’ve never used it.”
He scratches his jaw as his eyes scan my face. “You wash dishes by hand?”
I sigh. “I wash my glass or mug by hand. It’s not like I have enough dishes for a load. Lisa never ate here, so she didn’t use it.”
“Do you ever cook?”
“I made Maya macaroni and cheese once when she was living here.” I smooth my tongue over my bottom lip. “She handled the dishes that day.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ll cook for you, Matilda. When our schedules sync and we’re both home around dinner time, I’ll make something for the two of us.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I inch back, suddenly feeling a wave of heat rush over me. “I’m happy with take-out.”
“I’ll cook you dinner,” he insists as he leans closer to me. “Consider it a thank you for letting me rent the extra room.”
I should clarify that I had zero say in that, but I don’t. “It’s late. We should head to bed.”
His full lips curve into a sly grin.
Shit. I didn’t mean it like that.
I glance down and my eyes zero in on the front of his pajama pants and the obvious outline of his now semi-hard cock.
