That was another thing. I wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened, but sometime in the last few days, I had stopped referring to him like one of his teammates and started thinking of him as Jared.
Just Jared.My Jared?
I shook off that thought—lest it get me into trouble—along with the raindrops clinging to my curls.
A shiver racked my body. He unzipped his hoodie, which probably cost more than my monthly mortgage payment, and held it out to me. “Come here.”
“It’s a little late for that,” I told him. We were both already soaked. A few more raindrops wouldn’t make a difference at this point. “Besides, it’s not going to fit. You think that hoodie can cover all of this?” I rubbed my hands down my front, over every lump, bump, and roll.
His hooded eyes traced my movements.
“You might be taller than me, baseball boy, but—”
“Nessa.”
The dark rasp of his voice did delicious things to my body and warmed me quicker than a roaring fire.
“Turn. Around.”
I didn’t fight him, turning my back to let him drape the hoodie around my shoulders. His hands dwarfed my shoulder blades, but surprisingly, that didn’t intimidate me or make me nervous—not in the way it should have, at least.
In all our physical interactions, Jared had handled me with nothing but care and adoration. In a way that nobody else had for a long time.
I nestled myself into his side, trying my best not to notice the way his shirt had practically molded to his torso. I was no mathematician, but from what I could tell, the man had a freaking eight pack.
“Sorry about this, angel.” I could barely hear him over the wind. My stomach dropped when I looked up at him and saw the disappointment shadowing his eyes—specifically in himself. “I wouldn’t have kept you out there so long if I thought it was going to rain. Let me grab you a towel and then you can go—”
“I’m starving,” I blurted out.
“What?”
I waited until we were safely tucked under the overhang before turning to face him. “C’mon, Jared.” His eyes narrowed when I used his name. “Are you really going to let me leave without feeding me?”
He chewed on my words. We both knew it was the first time I had suggested anything between us that didn’t involve an audience. Aside from our texts and phone calls, of course, though even then, he was usually the one to initiate contact.
But I couldn’t stand him looking so deflated, not when he had shared so much of himself with me these last few weeks and invited me into what was clearly his sanctum. Besides, it was only dinner.
“Fair warning,” he said, wiping the moisture from his face. “I haven’t been to the grocery store since I got back to town. I think we’ve got some canned soup, spaghetti, and an apple or two.”
“Sounds like a gourmet meal.”
He winked, or at least I thought he did. He might very well have just been blinking away the rain.
“You start dinner, and I’ll start a fire,” I managed through chattering teeth.
The man knew his way around the kitchen.
I should have been used to Jared’s surprises by now, but what could I say? The man was an enigma.
A walking, talking, spatula-wielding enigma.
Most people I had dated—not that we werereallydating—would have balked at the idea of throwing together dinner on a moment’s notice. Then again, Jared’s kitchen rivaled a top chef’s wet dream. With a space like that, there was no reason to eat out.
The kitchen, however, had nothing on his master bathroom. He hadn’t been kidding about that bubble bath for two; Jared had a tub big enough for an Olympic swim team. Rather than dwell on how many people had most likely shared that tub with him, or the startling fact that against all odds, I had still wound up naked inhisroom, I opted for the warmth of his rainfall shower.
In the time it took for me to wash my hair, change into the oversized Roasters sweatshirt he’d left out on his bed, and comb out my curls, Jared had prepared a college dorm-worthy three-course meal.
Apple slices with peanut butter for an appetizer, chicken noodle soup doctored with extra noodles and herbs for an entrée, and for dessert—the pièce de resistance—s’mores banana boats prepared in the air fryer. It might not have been tempura-battered squash blossoms, but in a way, it was better.
