Into Your Arms (Squad Stories #1)(33)

"Are you gonna go? You'd better go. Get it out of your system. Then you might not feel all gushy about him." Ew. I don't feel gushy about Rhett.

Yeah, right.

"I'm not going. I'm not. I don't want to give him the wrong impression." The impression that I want to eat the Alfredo and then him.

"Babe, you've already done that. You really can't do any more damage than you already have. So go. Eat food. Get laid. Or not. Enjoy yourself on behalf of those of us who can't." I have no idea what's happening here. I know she wasn't a huge fan of Rhett, but now she seems to have changed her tune. It's confusing to say the least.

Or maybe I'm the one who's confused. Because I am. So fucking confused.

* * *

I guess I'm also hungry because a few hours later I find myself sitting in my car and staring up at Rhett's building.

"What am I doing?" I say to myself. Great. Now I'm so confused I'm talking to myself. I shake my head and get out of the car. He opens the door after three knocks with an expectant grin on his face.

"Somehow I had the feeling you were going to show up," he says, standing aside so I can come in.

"You don't have to be so smug about it. Smug isn't a good look for you." Such a lie. EVERY look is a good look for Rhett Miller. Curse him.

He just laughs and walks back toward the kitchen.

"So, I, ah, brought something," I say, holding out the grocery bag I was hiding behind my back.

"You didn't have to. I told you I had enough food for two people," he says as I set the bag down on the kitchen counter.

"It's just a little something for dessert." Shit, I did not mean that to sound the way it came out. Sexy. Like I'm going to be the dessert. I inwardly cringe, and Rhett gives me a leer.

"Cupcakes. It's cupcakes. Chocolate with peanut butter frosting." That still sounds suggestive, and I want to bang my head on the counter.

"My favorite," he says.

"Yeah, right."

"No, really. They are." There it is again. That flash of sincerity. I hate how much it's getting to me.

I watch as Rhett stirs a pot of pasta, grills chicken, and makes the sauce all at the same time. 

"Have you thought about being a chef?" I ask. He'd be good at it, if last week's meal was any indication.

He shakes his head, not looking up from the steaming and boiling pots and pans.

"Not really. I always wanted to work with kids. That's all I've ever wanted to do." Hm. There is definitely a story there from the way his back tensed up when he spoke.

"That's really nice, Rhett." I hate the shiver that quakes down my spine when I say his name. It shouldn't be such a sexy name, but it is. It so is. I can't help but think of Rhett Butler from Gone With the Wind. I hope this Rhett won't completely ruin my life.

Rhett and I share small talk as he cooks, and this time he actually lets me assemble a salad. And I do mean assemble. Everything is pre-chopped, so all I have to do is dump it in a bowl, add dressing, and toss.

"I think I can handle that," I say.

"You sure about that?" he says, but he's joking. I shove him as I walk by, but he doesn't budge. He's just so . . . big. Rhett takes up a lot of space, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it's intimidating, but right now it's comfortable. Somehow I feel safe with Rhett, which might have something to do with the fact that he's never dropped me. I've fallen, but it wasn't due to his poor basing skills. He's always caught me before I could hit the mat or get injured. I can't tell if it's because he's trying to impress Coach, he's really determined not to suck at cheer, or if it's something else. Something else that scares me and thrills me at the same time.

I'm done with the salad long before Rhett finishes everything else, so I just kind of keep tossing it and watch him. He moves with the same fluidity that he does during cheer. For a big guy, he's graceful, and he's an excellent dancer. I hate how sexy it is.

Rhett starts whistling to himself. He does that a lot, and it's not annoying, surprisingly. I keep trying to find flaws, but I can't seem to. There must be something. I just have to work harder to find it.

That means that I'll probably have to keep coming over here. Oh, well. At least the food is good?

* * *

Two hours later I'm on Rhett's couch again, my hands on my stomach and regrets in my heart.

"I should have waited to have that cupcake, but it just looked so good," I groan, resting my head back against the cushion. I kind of want to stretch out and take a nap.

"I'm glad you liked my food and I'm sorry you're having regrets." He tips his head to the side and gives me a tiny smile. It still does things to me. Everything he does affects me. I wish I could find a way to make it stop.

Rhett and I hold eye contact for just a little too long. I inhale slowly and the air in the room changes. Shifts to something else. And even though my stomach is sloshy and full, I can't ignore the magnetic pull toward Rhett. My body leans toward his without even realizing.