I clear my throat. “I… I didn’t know where they were, and I didn’t want to go searching through your kitchen.”
Without looking at me, Brookes points to his left. “Above the coffee pods.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, mortified. Opening the cabinet above the coffee pods, I’m relieved to find it fully stocked with glasses of all shapes and sizes, making a mental note for if I get thirsty in the middle of the night.
“Here.”
I spin around to find Brookes holding out a bottle of water, cold from the fridge. I hesitate before taking it from him, our eyes meeting the moment our fingers graze in the exchange.
“Thanks.” I look down, averting my eyes.
“Hungry?”
“Um…” I tuck my still damp hair behind my ear when my stomach growls, hoping like hell he didn’t just hear that. “Yeah. I was going to order some food, but I wasn’t sure?—”
“I was gonna grill some steaks,” he interrupts me, turningback to the fridge, and I watch the strong muscles in his back move beneath the thin white cotton of the t-shirt he’s wearing.
Jesus, get a grip, Poppy.
“You’re not, like, avegetarianare you?” Brookes glances at me over his shoulder, top lip curling like the sheer thought of me possibly being a vegetarian disgusts him.
I sniff a laugh, shaking my head.
“Good. Then anything you see in this fridge you can help yourself to.”
“Except the grape Gatorades, right?” I say, my smirk knowing.
He turns back to me, his brow furrowing momentarily before finally an understanding smile curls his lips. “I’ll make an exception for you. Since you live here and all.”
I watch as he moves fluidly about the kitchen, disappearing into the butler’s pantry and returning with utensils and spices before unwrapping the steaks from the paper and seasoning them with the utmost precision.
“Is there anything you need me to do?” I ask, feeling bad for just standing here.
“You can tell me a bit more about yourself,” he says without looking up from the meat. “I’m probably going to need to know at least the basics if I’m supposed to be yourboyfriend.”
The way he says boyfriend, like it’s a dirty word, almost as if this whole thing wasn’t all his idea.
“Well, there’s really not a lot to know,” I say with a shrug, trying so hard to play it cool despite my heart picking up speed.
“You’re twenty-three, yeah?”
I nod, and when Brookes shakes his head to himself at that, I know why. He’s almost ten years older than me.
“We’re both adults,” I assure him, hiding my knowing smirk.
He sniffs a laugh. “And you’re from Missouri?”
“Yeah. I grew up just outside KC. I went to college in St. Louis, which is where I met…Simon,” I mutter his name, involuntarily grimacing.
“Yeah, he seems like a fuckin’ delight, by the way.” Brookes scoffs, shaking his head.
“Yeah, he… isn’t a very nice person, it turns out.”
“What about your family?” Brookes lifts his gaze then, meeting mine.
My stomach drops into the pit of my ass. “What about them?” I ask airily.
Brookes’ eyebrows tug together. “Are they still in Missouri?”
