by Box Set
I cleared my throat and glanced away briefly. “If you can give me half an hour to shower and change, I’d love to help you finish that pasta,” I said quietly.
“Half an hour. Really?”
“Forty-five minutes.”
“Shall I have it ready in an hour?”
I nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
He grinned, pulling back from the truck. “All right then.”
“I…Hold on. Did you…shower…after all hell broke loose?”
“No. I cleaned up, but I didn’t have a chance yet. Why?”
“You’ve got…” I stopped, biting the inside of my lower lip as I smiled, eyes following the giant, blue streak that colored his dark hair.
He blinked at me. “Got what? Why are you grinning at me like that?”
I stepped forward. “Paint.” Lifting my hand to his face, I ran my finger along the side of his head, from a spot just above his ear, through his hair, and down to the soft spot just beneath his air. “Right along there.”
His gaze shifted from the inside of my arm. Our eyes met, and I took a deep breath. I was still touching him, my fingers just barely ghosting down the side of his neck.
A short breath juddered out of me. Stutter-like and harsh, I forced myself to take another deep breath in or I knew I’d lose control.
Especially when he raised his hand to mine and curled his fingers around my wrist.
Hot little bursts of desire danced up my arm where his fingertips pressed against the tender skin there. It almost tickled as they trailed up the inside of my arm when it lowered.
“Good to know.” His voice was deep and low, almost rough. “I’ll go fix that now. You’ll be back in an hour?”
I nodded, pressing my hands flat against the hot door of my truck. “An hour,” I said scratchily. I swallowed, then cleared my throat again, pretending not to see how his eyes dropped when my throat bobbed. “Right. An hour. See you then.”
Brantley took a few steps back, lips twitching as he backed away. “See you, Kali.”
I dressed as casually as I could. Yoga pants, a loose shirt, and an old, zip-up sweatshirt. My hair was still-damp and in its natural state of loose curls, all pulled up into a ponytail on top of my head. I barely even wore make-up. A light layer of foundation and some mascara was all I’d put on.
I wanted to believe that the nugget of bullshit Jayda planted in my mind was real.
A part of me did. I couldn’t begin to imagine how lonely Brantley actually was. My whole life had been lived here in Rock Bay. He’d uprooted his entire life in favor of a new one—of one better than the one he’d been existing through before.
He wanted, maybe even needed, a friend. Sure.
But there was more there.
I’d felt it when he’d kissed me, and I’d felt it an hour ago when I’d made the mistake of touching his paint-covered hair.
I was an idiot, that much was true. I don’t know what had possessed me to do that. I could have just said and pointed, but no. I practically ran my fingers through his hair and down the side of his neck.
What was wrong with me? I’d spent the entire morning berating myself for kissing him, and I’d allowed my best friend to guilt me into having dinner with him.
I was an idiot, but here I was, ready to get free pasta.
The door swung open before I could knock. “Come in. Sorry. It’s burning.”
My eyebrows shot up, and I stifled a giggle as I closed the door behind me. Sure enough, as I joined him in the kitchen, I could smell the faint yet distinct scent of something burning.
“Fuck it, fuck it!” Brantley swept a huge pan over the sink and ditched the contents in a drainer. “Goddamn hob!”
I leaned against the table, taking a moment to notice that it was set. Plates, cutlery—the half-full bottle of wine I hadn’t finished the night before.
Um.
“Having problems?” I grinned at his back.
“I know you’re smiling, so stop it,” he said without looking at me.
I smiled wider.
“And, yes. Problems. This damn thing drives me crazy.” He waved his hand in the direction of the stove-top. “It heats up quicker than I can turn it down, and now I can’t turn it off.”
I leaned over. “The child-lock is on.”
He froze, looking over his shoulder at me. “It has a child-lock?”
Closing the distance between me and the hob, I pressed the key-shaped pad on the top until it beeped, then turned it off.
“Well, fuck me,” Brantley muttered.
Okay.
Wait, no.
I shook my head and took a seat at the table. He chuckled, and… Oh my god.
Oh. My. God.
I shook my head. It looked like I was answering his question.
This. This was why I shouldn’t be here. I couldn’t even plan a goddamn headshake that was the equivalent of an eyeroll.
He poured the spaghetti back into the pan and mixed in some sauce, this time, operating the stove-top very carefully. I stifled a laugh as he jabbed frantically at the flat buttons hoping they’d register his touch.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I got up and nudged him out the way. “Gently is the key,” I said, wiping off the touch pad with the bottom of my shirt to clear his prints. I hit the power button, then the back circle. “What number power?”
“Uh…”
“Five it is.” I pressed the ‘down’ key until it was on the middle heat. “You’re jabbing at it too hard. Just touch it, like your phone.”
“My phone doesn’t beep at me angrily every time I touch it.”
“Yours is better behaved than mine.”
He laughed, pulling a spoon out of the utensil pot. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this kitchen.”
“Well, if it comes to it, I know someone who can fit you another.”
His gaze slid to me. “Pimping yourself out?”
“No. I actually know someone who can fix this.” I circled my finger in the area of the stove. “But, if you want new cabinets…” I clicked my tongue and pointed to myself. “I’m your girl.”
“Good to know.” He held my gaze, spoon stilled in the center of the pot.
I blushed.
“Did you know that you blush a lot?”
I blushed harder. “Did you know that you didn’t put the sauce in that pasta and you’re burning it again?”
“Shit!”
I didn’t try to hide my laughter this time. I laughed out loud, pressing my hand to my stomach as I gripped the edge of the counter. This was the very first imperfection I’d seen in Brantley Cooper, and it was both wonderful and curious.
Wonderful because he’d been almost too perfect until now.
Curious, because how had he kept himself and two other people alive if he was burning pasta?
“Stop laughing at me.” He poured the sauce from the other pan into the pasta. “I swear, I’m not a culinary idiot.”
“You can’t work your stove!”
“That’s a simple matter of electronic semantics.”
“Electronic semantics, my ass! It’s a simple matter of male impatience. And you’re still burning the pasta!”
“Fucking hell!”
“Oh god, move.” I shoved him out of the way, literally plucking the spoon from his hand and shifting in front of him. I pulled the pan off the burner and stirred it then, scraping the pasta off the bottom of the pan. “Sauce.”
Brantley slid past me, his hand brushing my lower back as he went. I ignored it the best I could, if we considered the fact I was biting the inside of my cheek and avoiding his eyes.
He put the sauce into the pan, his chest brushing against my arm as I put it back onto the burner. I cleared my throat and stirred, mixing it all into the pasta and chicken carefully. The creamy, white sauce splattered as I lost my hold on the spoon, and I winced, screwing my face up as it spat at me.
&nb
sp; Brantley laughed. “Painting…cooking…it’s all relative for you, isn’t it?”
“Shut up,” I muttered, wiping my forehead.
He leaned over and swiped his thumb along my cheekbone. “There. Now it’s all gone.”
I blushed and turned off the burner. “It’s done.” I stepped back from the stove and went back to the table.
He side-eyed me with a half-smile as he took over, pulling two plates from the cupboard closest to him.
I turned away, looking out of the window as he served it up. This was exactly why I hadn’t wanted to have dinner with him—this attraction.
It was undeniable. For us both. It was the elephant in the room every time our eyes met, and it was getting harder and harder to hide my reactions whenever we touched.
The problem was, I’d screwed all my own attempts at putting distance between us. I was sitting on the wall that divided professional and personal, one leg on each side, staring down the line until it disappeared.
I had no idea what I was doing with my life.
Brantley set a plate in front of me, and I murmured a “thank you” as he took his seat.
What were we going to talk about?
Did we have anything in common? I doubted he enjoyed Friends re-runs as enthusiastically as I did, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be drawn into a conversation about sports. The last sports I watched was when I was a senior in high school, and that was only because I had a crush on the running back on our team.
Sidenote: showing up in short-shorts totally worked.
All that said, relief flooded through me when Brantley began to eat in silence. I followed suit, digging into the delicious, creamy, cheesy pasta dish in front of me.
Amazing. He burned pasta, yet cooked the sauce.
My mind boggled.
The minutes ticked by. Had Jayda been right? Was it just company he wanted? If so… I mean, this was better than anything I had the patience to cook. I’d be his dinner friend any day if he’d feed me like this.
I was almost done eating when he put down his fork and sipped at his wine.
“I’m sorry if I made things awkward when I kissed you yesterday.”
Chapter 17
I almost choked on my food. I grabbed my wine and washed it down, thankfully without giving into the urge to spit it everywhere.
That came out of nowhere.
“I’m sorry if I made it awkward apologizing for making it awkward,” he added, lips twitching as he gazed over at me.
“Nope. You’re good. Just surprised me, that’s all.” I took another mouthful of wine, swilling it around before I swallowed it. “Not awkward. I mean, a little, but mostly because it’s against the rules. No company-client relations. You know?”
He nodded. “Like I said, I’m sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It won’t happen again.”
Oh.
Why did that suck?
Goddamn it, it didn’t suck. That was absolutely the right choice. It couldn’t happen again. No way.
“Right. Of course. You know you didn’t have to invite me for dinner just to say that, right?”
“I know. It happened to work in my favor. I’ll never get the hang of cooking the right amount of pasta.” He frowned. “I don’t know how people do it.”
“My mom is one of those weirdos. Like, she just knows how much pasta to cook. I generally cook enough for a small army.”
Brantley waved his hand. “Speak for yourself. I think I have enough for lunch tomorrow, too.”
I laughed, resting my forearm on the table. I nudged my plate aside so I had room to cup my wine glass in front of me. “Just let the twins eat it.”
“They’re at daycare tomorrow. Do you have any idea how amazing it’ll be to have a day to myself?”
“Really? You mean I can paint without chaos?”
His smile reached his eyes. “You can paint without chaos,” he confirmed. “I might bug you if I get bored, but I promise not to screw up the walls.”
“If you come and bug me, I’ll be handing you a roller and telling you to start painting.”
“I can do that.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “After I’ve been to the store and had my ankles ripped to shreds.”
“I don’t know why we still shop there. There’s a Target half an hour away.”
“That’s the problem. Target is half an hour away. Irma’s is five minutes for anyone in town.”
Sighing, I propped my chin up on my hand. “And you won’t get the local gossip at Target.”
“Small towns,” he muttered. “So in each other’s business.”
I nodded. “Everyone will assume we’re dating tomorrow. Just so you know.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he stood, grabbing both our plates. “That’s a bit of a jump, isn’t it?”
“Not really. They’re simply putting two and two together and getting five, as they generally do. It’s not much of a jump when you consider that I’m single and you’re single and hot.”
He glanced over his shoulder at me, amusement curling his lips.
“I…Um…I wasn’t supposed to say that out loud,” I said slowly.
Crap.
“You think I’m hot,” he said. He didn’t ask, he just said it.
“I, well, I, er…”
He quirked a brow at me.
I took a deep breath. “Yes. You don’t?”
“I have to admit I’ve never really looked at myself that way.” His restrained laughter made his shoulders shake. “I’ll consider it next time I look in the mirror.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic about it.” I finished my wine and got up. The chair squeaked against the floor. “And now I’m the one who’s made it awkward, soooo, I think I’m going to make like a banana and split.” I put the wine glass on the side by the sink and turned. “Thank you for dinner. It was great. Let’s pretend this conversation never happened.”
He stood in front of me, blocking my way. His biceps clenched with how he had his arms folded across his chest, and the white material of his t-shirt stretched over his shoulders in a way that was more than a little distracting.
But it was his eyes that made me stop. The way a darkness that hinted at desire tickled the edges of his gaze. The way they shone bright with laughter at the same time they revealed how he was feeling in that very second.
I swallowed.
“We could pretend it never happened,” he said in a low voice. “Or we could just admit that we’re attracted to each other and deal with it from there.”
“I don’t—I mean, I’m not… Attracted to you,” I finished stupidly.
“You mean you’re not very good at lying.”
“Yeah. That, too.”
He dropped his arms and approached me. I backed up until my back hit the edge of the counter.
Shit. Idiot. Now, you’re trapped.
I gripped the edge of the marble counter and took a deep breath.
He stood in front of me, towering over me by a few inches, and rested his hands either side of my body. His thumbs brushed my pinky fingers, settling where I could just feel the tickle of them through the air.
“Deal with it,” I echoed, my mouth dry. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
He glanced at my mouth.
Dear god, how was he able to answer my question without speaking?
“Okay, but, um, here’s the thing.” I couldn’t breathe. I sounded like a panting idiot trying to get the words out between each short, sharp breath I took. “This,” I motioned between us, “is bad.”
“Bad.” His lips tugged to the side.
“Yes. Because,”—help. Someone help—“because this isn’t allowed. Company rules. No cavorting with clients.”
“No cavorting with clients.” That half-smile turned into a full-blown grin. “That’s very…proper.”
“Well, I can’t exactly put, “No fucking the clients” now, can I?”
“You could have, but it would have be
en unfortunately precise.”
“I should change that.”
“I disagree.”
I licked my lips. “You should agree. Because this is—”
“Bad. You said.” More lip twitching.
“I thought you were sorry you made it awkward by kissing me.”
“That was before I found out you were attracted to me. Now, I’m a lot less sorry I kissed you.”
Oh. Well. Fair enough.
“Should I take back my acceptance of your apology?” I asked.
“You should stop talking and see how you feel when I’ve kissed you again.”
“Kissed me—”
He silenced me with his lips on mine. A huge shiver wracked my body, and he smiled against my mouth, hands slowly sliding up my arms. He grazed his teeth over my lower lip as he pulled away, and my heart pounded against my chest.
There was only a breath of air between our lips. I could taste him, and although I knew I’d hate myself, I couldn’t help it.
I placed my hands either side of his neck and kissed him right back. Firmly. I kissed him the way he had me the night before, with force and unfightable desire. As he wound one hand into my hair, I pushed up on tiptoes, my ass now digging into the edge of the counter as he leaned against me.
My head spun. It felt so fucking good, probably because I knew it was wrong. But, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop my heart from pounding or my body from reacting to him the way it was. The skin tingles, the chest tightening, the lust that pooled between my legs and made my clit ache…
None of it.
It was out of control, and all because of him.
His body was hard against mine—and so was his cock. It pressed, fighting against the confines of his jeans, against my lower stomach. This only turned me on more, sent more desire running at a fast pace through my blood.
I wanted him to fuck me right here, right now, up against the kitchen counter, and I no longer fucking cared about it.
I just wanted more—more touching, more kissing, more of him.
His lips moved over mine so smoothly. His fingers toyed with my hair just enough that tiny stings radiated over my scalp, and his tongue fought with mine as the kiss got deeper and deeper.
Rougher. More desperate. More—
