“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked. I’m impressed.” He tilts his head. “You don’t strike me as the type.”
I smirk. “What type do I strike you as?”
“The frozen pizza and takeout type.”
“That’s deeply offensive.” I point a spatula at him. “I’ll have you know my mom taught me to cook. She’d disown me if I lived on frozen pizza.”
The smallest smile crosses his face. “Well, I look forward to eating a home-cooked meal.”
“I take ityoudon’t cook?” I check the oven, and the smell that rolls out is mouthwatering.
“Not really.” He laughs. “Pop-Tarts are my best friend.”
“That doesn’t sound healthy.”
“I buy the fruit ones.”
I widen my eyes. “You do realize that a fruit Pop-Tart doesn’t count as your daily serving of fruit, right?”
“I know.” He sighs. “But they’re cheap and fast and yummy.”
“Oh, boy.” I shake my head.
“Instead of nagging me about my questionable eating habits, you should go shower.” He gestures toward the stove. “I’ll keep an eye on dinner.”
“If you insist.” As our eyes meet, that weird and unwelcome awareness we share buzzes through me. I clear my throat. “The chicken has another twenty minutes. If the timer goes off before I’m back, just pull it out.”
“I think I can handle that.”
I head upstairs, stripping off my smoky uniform when I reach my bedroom and tossing it on the floor. I step into the shower and the hot water feels incredible on my sore muscles. As I wash the day off, I let myself think about the fact that Jude is downstairs in my kitchen right now. In my house. Where he’ll be sleeping tonight, and tomorrow night, and probably for months.
You’d think I’d feelsomekind of inconvenience about having a roommate after many years of living alone. Instead, there’s a settling in my chest, like something that was slightly off has been corrected. My wolf is calm in a way it rarely is. Content.
“Don’t make it weird,” I mutter, shampooing my hair with more force than is necessary. “I’m helping out a friend. That’s all this is.”
I rinse and shut the water off before my thoughts can go anywhere else. Because for some reason, when it comes to Jude, my thoughts do wander into territory I find uncomfortable.
Once I’m showered, I scoop my uniform off the floor and hunt down Jude’s smoky uniform in the guest bathroom. Then I toss them both in the washer since we’ll need them for work tomorrow. I don’t bother asking Jude if he wants me to wash his uniform. I know he’d just say he’ll do it later, as if me helping him out is a huge sacrifice.
When I come back downstairs in a clean flannel shirt and jeans, Jude is standing at the stove, sautéing the green beans. He glances over and I notice his gaze flicker briefly down my body before he looks back at the pan. My pulse flutters but I pretend I didn’t notice.
“The timer went off,” he says. “I pulled the chicken out. Figured I’d make myself useful with the green beans.”
“I thought you didn’t cook?”
“I don’t.” He laughs sheepishly. “Hopefully the green beans will survive my horrible cooking skills.”
“Look at us.” I lean against the counter beside him. “Working like a team at home just as well as we do at work.”
“I guess.” He huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t look at me. “Let’s hope we don’t end up hating each other.”
I’m about to respond when a knock at the front door interrupts.
My stomach tightens because I already know who’s at the door. Kara has a specific knock—quick, rhythmic, a little impatient. Irritation nips at me instead of excitement that she’s dropped by uninvited. I don’t usually mind her popping over, but I know her spontaneous visit is going to make Jude uneasy. Maybe I shouldn’t care about that more than her feelings, but he’s had a traumatic day. I was really hoping we could unwind, just the two of us, and have a quiet evening.
Apparently not.
