“Where’s your shirt?”
He ignores me and walks into the kitchen, grabbing himself a water. “This is no different than me wearing a swimsuit. It actually covers more.”
I blow out a breath. “I don’t see a pool anywhere around here, so clothes would be appreciated.”
“Tell me why you’re up first.”
I lean along the back of his couch, facing him in the kitchen, still unable to take my eyes off him. He really is such a beautiful man.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was going to eat something, but turns out we’re living like college students. Or at least I was while you were away.”
He opens his pantry, then the fridge. “Sit.” And then he takes out a box of pasta, and milk and cheese from the fridge.
“Oh, don’t… I mean, I can make popcorn now that you’re up.” I join him in the kitchen, sliding around him to grab a pouch of microwave popcorn, but just as I have it in my grasp, two hands grip my waist and turn me back toward the living room, leaving me no choice but to walk that way.
“Popcorn isn’t enough. I’ll make you a meal. You barely ate your dinner.”
“I ate.”
He doesn’t bother fighting with me. Instead, he pulls a pot out and fills it with water. “Just say thank you and sit on a stool and keep me company.”
I slide up on the stool and watch him take a grater out to shred the cheese. “You should really cook with a shirt on.”
He peeks up at me, giving me a look that says really, then concentrates back on the task at hand. “You do know you’re breaking the rules too, right?”
I glance down at myself. “I’m wearing a T-shirt and shorts.”
“The shorts are short.”
“That’s sort of the definition of shorts.”
“And your shirt rises when you lift your arms.” He doesn’t look at me when he says this.
“Observant.”
He stops shredding the cheese and glances at me again. “Hard not to be.”
My libido flares to life like a struck match. I know this is a very, very bad thing, but I also can’t help but love that he notices me like I do him.
“Okay, I’ll give you a reprieve on the clothes thing since you’re making me food. Can I sit on the counter though?”
He chuckles and pats the spot next to the stovetop.
I slip off the stool and round the breakfast bar, hopping up on the counter as he puts the pasta in the water. “So, whatcha making me?”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s just something I learned on the fly when I was younger.” He puts butter in a pan with minced garlic and a few other seasonings. The buttery-garlic smell curls around us, and my mouth waters.
“Where did you learn this?” I ask.
“I made it up myself.”
I see we’re not going to get far in our conversation unless I push. This is the perfect moment for us to discover more about one another. “Hey, did Hayes tell you about our one-for-one game?”
He peeks up at me from the corner of his eye. “I don’t generally ask questions that are designed to torture me.”
I push at his leg with my foot, and he doesn’t budge, continuing to stir the butter in the pan. “You’re the one who said we should be friends and get to know one another.”
He groans. “Fine… what is one for one?”
