AFTER ONLY TWO DAYS OF WORK, it already feels like my days off are well deserved. I spend the day at the Museum of Contemporary Art, and then head off to the store for some much needed groceries. Dinner, wine, and a good book sound like the best medicine after a difficult week. Besides, a snowstorm is blowing in, and I’ll be lucky if I get out for the next few days.
It’s a little after seven when I finally get back to my apartment with a full bag of groceries in hand. Seeing that it’s quiet and completely dark, I breathe a sigh of relief. Almost twenty-four hours, no work, no Blake—it’s almost as if I’ve landed in the life I was supposed to live.
My stomach growls as I unpack everything, leaving the ingredients for homemade pizza on the counter. It’s something my mom makes all the time on cold winter nights, and I could use a slice of home right now.
I plug my iPod into the docking station and blare Boyce Avenue throughout the apartment while I chop peppers, mushrooms, and onions. While waiting for the sauce to simmer, I pour myself a glass of red wine, bring it to my nose, then let the first sip coat my tongue. This day was exactly what I needed, I think, as I relax against the counter. It’s these little things in life we should never take for granted.
As I swallow down the last sip from my wine glass, the lock clicks and the door to the apartment swings open. Blake appears in the same clothes he had on last night. No jacket, just his signature gray stocking hat. His dark eyes find me right away.
“Found another ride home last night, did you?” he asks as he sets a brown paper bag on the counter and stands over the stove, inhaling the tomato and garlic aroma.
Last night, after I snuck out back with Dana, I was sure he’d come barging through our apartment door and cause a scene. He didn’t.
“Dana gave me a ride,” I answer, pressing the fresh pizza dough into a round stone.
“I was going to give you a ride.” He uses the wooden spoon to swirl the sauce around. His shoulders are tense, and he sounds tired. Exhausted actually.
“Dana offered. I accepted.”
He sighs, running his long, thick fingers through his hair. “Why are you so stubborn?”
I still can’t figure out why he feels this need to wiggle his way into my life, to protect me. Maybe Mallory had something to do with this. Whatever it is, I don’t need it.
“Can you just drop it?” I ask. “If you were so worried about how I was getting home, you should have followed up sooner.”
“I made sure you made it home okay,” he replies in a low voice.
“How did you do that?”
He shrugs. “I followed you.”
“That’s not creepy.”
“Some day you’ll thank me,” he answers.
Maybe he’s right.
“Can I have that please?” I ask, holding my hand out for the spoon.
He just stares at me, eyes locking for longer than I’d like—longer than I can bear. His Adam’s apple dips as he places the spoon in my hands. “What are you making?”
“Veggie pizza. It’s my mom’s recipe.” I train my eyes on the pan, watching the sauce simmer. Anything to keep from looking at him.
“Smells amazing. I don’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal . . . besides eggs, of course.”
I stir, trying to make myself look busy.
He stares, increasing my discomfort.
I don’t know him well enough to make easy conversation. I keep my hands and eyes occupied, until I remember he didn’t walk in empty handed.
“What’s in the brown bag?” I ask, pointing to where he’d set it on the counter. When my eyes find him again, I notice he hasn’t moved. He’s been standing right behind me, just far enough back that we’re not touching. He’d been staring . . . I can tell by how long it’s taking him to react to my question.
“Tequila.”
“Do we have limes?”
A sexy grin spreads across his face. “Bottom drawer of the fridge.”
Glancing out the window, I see huge snowflakes falling across the light from the street lamp. Blake wouldn’t be my first choice to spend a snowy night with, but it doesn’t look like either of us will be going anywhere.
“If you share your tequila, I’ll share my pizza.”
Without hesitation, he says, “Sounds like we have a deal. Do you need any help? My end of the bargain is already met.”
I wave him off. “I got it.”
“I’m going to jump in the shower,” he says. He holds my waist, gently moving me aside to place the tequila in the fridge. His hands apply the perfect amount of pressure. I shiver, imagining what else they could do. Then, without another word, he disappears behind his bedroom door.
I pour myself another glass of red, taking small sips as I place the sauce, veggies, and fresh mozzarella over the homemade dough. I slide the stone in the oven, my mouth watering at the mere thought of having the reminder of home against my taste buds.
Blake walks out of his room in a pair of navy lounge pants that hang low on his hips and a tight white T-shirt right as I’m about to pull the pizza from the oven. The mere sight of him causes me to hesitate. I can’t remember the last time someone affected me like this.
“Is it ready?” he asks, sliding up behind me. His body doesn’t touch mine, but I still feel the heat as I breathe in his scent.
I shake all thoughts of him and his allure from my mind. “I was just about to take the pizza out of the oven.”
“Do you need help?”
“Umm, you could take out some plates and silverware.”
He steps away from me, allowing me to relax. I turn the oven off and carefully take the pizza stone out. It looks amazing, crust perfectly browned, cheese bubbling . . . exactly how Mom makes it.
“Do you want me to cut it?”
I shake my head, handing him a cup of fresh grated cheese and crushed red pepper flakes. “Set these on the table, I’ll be right over.”
“The only place I’m going to let you have any control around here is in the kitchen.” He winks, then walks away from me. I’m not exactly sure what he meant by that; there’s not one aspect of my life I’m going to let him control.
I cut the pizza, placing two perfect slices on each plate, and carry them over to the table. His eyes widen like it’s nothing he’s ever seen before. “Is this all you can make?” he asks, sprinkling some Parmesan over his.
I take my first bite, the hot sauce burning the roof of my mouth. “I have lots of tricks up my sleeve,” I reply, wiping the corners of my mouth.
The sexy smirk returns as he fixes his gaze on me. “I’ll bet you do.”
“So do you have any plans after dinner?” I ask, almost hoping for a night to myself.
“I don’t think so. They’re calling for at least a foot of snow overnight. I’m thinking about watching a movie or something.”
I groan. “I hate TV.”
“How about a game? I know one in particular that could be interesting.”
“And if I say no?”
“We could talk about your rules. I didn’t quite get through all of them last night.” He takes a big bite of pizza, but his eyes never leave me.
“I’m serious about the rules.”
His head tilts to one side. “And I’m serious about not following them.”
I feel my face heating up. I didn’t ask him for too much, or at least I didn’t think I did. “We better just let the rules be then.”
“Finish your pizza, and then I’ll explain the game. Since we’re going to be roommates for the foreseeable future, Lemon Drop, we should probably get to know each other better.”
For the next ten minutes, we quietly devour our pizza. Even without words, it’s nice to have someone to sit with. There’s no arguing at least.
When we’re done, he picks up our plates and rinses them off while I disappear inside my bedroom to change into a pair of black jogging pants and a matching hoodie. I tie my long red hair up into a bun and step back out into the living room, noticing the supper mess has been completely cleaned up.