The four of us stand in the kitchen looking at a basic cookbook. Flicking through the pages, trying to find something we can make.
Ace leans over. “What are we making? I want lasa?—”
“No!” Gemma and I both say.
Ace’s face drops when he can't have what he wants. He has, at least, chirped up since our little outing.
“Let’s do something simple,” Gemma says.
I watch her as she flicks through the cookbook, her hair tied up in a bun. Her shorts are riding up her bum, revealing the curve of her ass cheek.
She stops at a page. “I like the idea of chicken pasta bake.”
I look at the image. It seems simple enough.
“I agree. Let’s do this!”
After reading the instructions several times, we begin. The children fetch ingredients from the fridge and the pantry, and then they get the pots and pans we need. I work on the chicken and also show Gemma how to boil the pasta.
She watches it like a hawk, stirring it now and then. It's humorous the way she doesn't want it to go wrong. We make slow progress. It isn't the most technical dish to make, but thanks to our lack of cooking skills, it's complicated enough for both of us.
While the pasta bake is in the oven, the children set the table and then go off to play. Gemma and I tidy up. I leave her for five minutes to run a sink of soapy water while I take the rubbish out to the outside bin. When I come back, the sink is overflowing with bubbles, and I glance at the bottle. A lucky guess says she used at least a quarter of the washing up liquid in that sink. I try not to laugh as she looks at me, her eyebrows pinched. I smile and shake my head.
"Get to it," I tell her.
She washes up by hand, while I dry. I stand close to her; I’m almost touching her. She turns, looking at me.
“Alex?”
“Yeah,” I reply, narrowing my eyes.
She gives me a wicked smile. Picking up some bubbles, she blows them in my direction. They land on my face.
“Oh! Oh no, you didn’t.” I dunk my hands into the sink next, doing the same back to her.
She gives me a shocked look, followed by a massive smile. “You’re dead,” she hisses. She scoops her hands in, throwing water in my direction.
Laughing, I grab a cup and lean over her. She tries to push me away, but it isn't going to happen. I empty the cup over her head, trapping her in my arms with her back against my chest. She doesn't move for a few seconds, breathing heavily. I don't anticipate her next move. She spins back around, then she turns to face me. There is a large jug in her hand.
“Gemma, no. No!”
She pours it all over my body, as she is a bit too short to reach my head. I grab hold of her wrist, direct it towards her, and tip the last bit over her. I watch as the water trails down her face to her breast line. Why am I looking?
The alarm on the oven starts to go off. The children come running in, they stop when they see the state of us and the water that is splashed everywhere.
“What are you doing?” Ace asks. He looks at the puddle of water on the floor and our drenched bodies.
“We had a bit of a water fight. It got out of hand,” I answer.
“Boobies.” Eden laughs.
Both Gemma and I look down to see that her white top is see-through—her hard nipples are visible.
“I’ll just get changed.” Gemma’s face flushes red, and she folds her arms around her chest. "You get the chicken bake out of the oven."
GEMMA
Running up the stairs, I grab a clean towel out of the airing cupboard on my way to my room. I shut my bedroom door as fast as I can. While I stand in front of the long mirror and undress, I think about the way Alex stared at my breasts. I remove my bra and admire my small but beautifully formed handful. They are gorgeous, even if I say so myself.
