Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 555(@200wpm)___ 444(@250wpm)___ 370(@300wpm)
“You evil little thing you.”
He smiled brightly, and I couldn’t resist taking another kiss.
“Then what are we making for dinner, James?”
32
James
“Some beef, steaks that are probably about to go bad, chicken,” I called back to him as I surveyed our options in the fridge. Kyle came up behind me, so I headed off any potential criticism. “Please don’t judge the mess.”
“I like your messes.” He kissed my cheek, snatched my ass, my pajama bottoms a cruel barrier between us.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not your douchebag wife, so I don’t care. You should see the mess Tex and I keep the fridge in. At least your fruit looks fresh. Speaking of, mind if I have one of these Honeycrisps?”
“Of course.” I grabbed an apple from the shelf and handed it to him.
“Thank you. You sure were trying to make me work up an appetite in there,” he said as he walked to the sink and rinsed off the apple.
As he chomped into it, I asked, “How do you feel about fajitas—chicken and steak?”
“Ooh, my little chef. That sounds delicious.”
He made himself comfortable on the kitchen table, in just black briefs, his taut abs creasing along the lines in his impressively defined six-pack. While still chewing, he took another bite of his apple.
“Jesus, how hungry were you? I wasn’t trying to starve you.”
“Pretty damn hungry. I forgot to pack a lunch this morning. It’s all right. Ben gave me some of his pudding, but I didn’t eat much because…I guess you could say I kind of got some good news last night.” He displayed a cheeky grin before taking another bite.
I enjoyed the sensation his words stirred in my chest as I reflected on that special night. But unlike the night before, the pleasure we’d shared that afternoon came with a tinge of guilt, since I knew every moment I delayed confronting reality was another moment of lying to myself. Although, I feared that honesty might do little more than chase away everything we’d enjoyed.
I closed the fridge and approached him, took another quick kiss, hoping it would drown out my worries. It helped, but I knew I would have to get used to the pain.
Something Sheila had made me damn good at surviving.
“Don’t worry, James,” he whispered, as if intuiting everything I felt.
“I’m trying.” I nuzzled my face into his cheek before pulling away.
“Here. Maybe some of my apple will cheer you up, Teach.”
I cringed at his use of the nickname, especially after all we’d done. But I knew he was trying to cheer me up with the playful symbolism.
He turned the apple to where he’d already taken a bite, and I accepted it, savoring the refreshing taste before swallowing. Kyle watched like it was a show, and I struggled to pull my gaze from those deep blue eyes that had a hypnotic effect on me, in a different way than they usually did.
Now I was their willing prisoner.
“Teach, this apple’s only gonna last me so long. We gotta get started on these fajitas, or we’ll be ordering out. And I’m not doing a delivery run for us.”
I laughed as he hopped off the table and made himself at home, opening my fridge. “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with…”
I admired his ass in his briefs as he pulled out peppers.
“Got any tomatoes?”
“A can of diced in the pantry.”
He shook his head. “Guess it’ll have to do. And tortillas?”
“I have some in the fridge—”
“That’s not gonna work for me.” He set the peppers on the counter and returned to the pantry to inspect the contents. “I can work with this,” he mumbled, grabbing the flour and vegetable oil to add to our collected ingredients.
I manned the meat while he made fresh tortillas. It reminded me of the sort of teamwork we’d come to know through our volunteer work together.
The pan sizzled as he spread some of the dough he’d prepared inside it. He’d thrown on a tee to keep from getting burned by any stray pops of oil. As he kept busy with his task, I pan-fried chicken on a skillet beside him. Our primary goal seemed to be evading the truth as we embraced the sound of the cracking juices on our skillets until we had our meal ready and were sitting adjacent to each other at my table.
“Try the tortilla by itself first,” he said. “I want you to marvel at my skills.”
I laughed, shaking my head as he rested his foot against mine, rubbing gently as I cut one and bit into it.
Damn, of course he could make a tortilla.
He eyed me as though waiting for the compliment he was sure would follow. “I don’t see why I have to say anything. You already know they’re good.”
“Maybe you could do wonders for my self-esteem if you copped to it.”