Every Kiss(38)
After stretching, I straighten up my books and open the door, listening for signs of Wes. A savory aroma wafts down the hall, and my stomach growls in response. I can’t remember if I even ate lunch today. I walk quietly into the living area and see the light on in the kitchen. He’s standing over a pot on the stove, stirring something that smells divine. And let me just say there’s something hot about a man in the kitchen. Especially in those worn jeans he’s changed into.
“Whatcha cookin’?”
“Beef stew. I thought it sounded better than pancakes. You hungry?”
I climb up onto a bar stool at the island and rest my elbows on the cool granite. “Very.” I notice the pitch black outside the windows and look around for the time. “Shit, is it really nine o’clock?”
“Mmmhmm. You’ve been at it a while.” He opens the oven and pulls out a little pan of brownies. “I thought you might like something sweet. I always did when I was studying.”
Add another personality to the long list. It’s Mr. Betty Crocker himself, ladies and gents.
“You thirsty?” he asks, opening the fridge. “I have water, iced tea, beer, soda . . . whiskey.”
“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll take the tea.”
He grabs two glasses and fills them with ice. “Would you rather eat in here, on the couch, or in the dining room?”
“Your mom did a real number on you, didn’t she?” I joke.
But it falls flat. “I don’t like to talk about her.”
I slap a hand over my mouth. “No! I meant your mom, not your mother. There’s a difference.”
“Sorry. And you’re right. Big difference.” His shoulders relax and his face softens. “My mom always has guests, and she raised us to cater to them. It’s engrained in me. I can’t help it.”
A warm smile stretches over my lips. “Where do you usually eat?”
After waiting on me like I’m completely incapable of doing anything for myself, Wes finally settles into the couch next to me, handing me a warm bowl of stew. I waste no time digging in, while he turns the television on, finally stopping on a popular funny sitcom. The domesticity of it all is oddly comforting. I’m on one side of the couch with my feet tucked underneath me, and he’s kicked back with his feet propped on the coffee table. We’re just eating in front of the television like we’ve been doing it for years.
After we’re finished eating, he tells me that I can shower first, so I make it a point to get in and out quickly. I know he has to work in the morning, so he’ll probably be going to bed soon. I look into the partially steamed mirror while I’m combing out my hair. It’s a shame that I’m the only one that’s going to see this underwear. Or am I? I wanted to get at him, but am I bold enough to do it? To just walk out there in nothing but?
Oh, I’m bold enough, for sure. But what would I be setting myself up for? No. I can’t do it. I’ll just have to hope it’s screwing with his head enough, knowing what’s under my clothes.
But . . . I am wearing the band shirt with my yoga pants. And my glasses. I don’t want my hair to dry all weird tonight though, so I am going to leave my hair down. Totally modest. Not sexy at all. What’s with me behaving myself all of a sudden? He’s seriously weakening my supreme audacity skills.
By the time I come out, he’s already cleaned up the kitchen and straightened the living room back up. But he’s nowhere to be found. I peek into the utility room, into his office. Nothing. That only leaves his bedroom. I pad down the short hallway and turn toward his open door. “Wes?”
He steps out of his closet, shirtless, wearing only his jeans with the button undone. “Yeah?”
We both freeze, suspended in this moment; although, I’m not sure why. I’ve seen him in nothing but his underwear. He’s seen me naked. So why is the air suddenly so thick? Why does he have to get to me like this?
“Umm . . . the shower. It’s all yours. Goodnight.”
“Thanks. I’ll get you up around six, but feel free to wake me up if you need something. Sleep well.”
I nod, retreating to the safety of my room before my head starts to spin. Before I start to seriously question my stance on adding benefits to our friendship.
I cram my earbuds in and climb into bed, shutting out the world around me. Shutting out the sounds of the water running across the hall, the thoughts of Wes under the steamy spray. But no matter how loud the music, that’s still the last thing I imagine when I drift off to sleep.
IT’S THE WALL-SHAKING thunder that jolts me awake just a little after three in the morning. I knew there was a chance of storms tonight, but that doesn’t mean I could ever be prepared for them. I hate it. Even when I was little, I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and I wouldn’t feel safe until I was tucked between my parents. Okay, so I’ll even get in bed with Makenna on occasion. I’m a big scaredy cat, and I’ll be the first to admit it.