A quick exploration of the fridge, pantry and cupboards reveals that Garrett wasn't kidding-cooking does happen here, because the kitchen is stocked with ingredients. The only recipe I know off the top of my head is my grandmother's three-cheese lasagna, so I gather up all the necessary items and pile them on the granite counter. I'm about to get cooking when something else occurs to me.
Pursing my lips, I fish my phone out of my back pocket and pull up my mother's number. It's only four o'clock, so I'm hoping she hasn't left for work yet.
Luckily, she picks up on the first ring. "Hey, sweetie! This is a lovely surprise."
"Hey. Got a sec?"
"I've got five whole minutes actually," she replies with a laugh. "Your father's driving me to work tonight, so he has the honor of cleaning all the snow off the car."
"You guys are already getting that much snow?" I say in horror.
"Of course we are. It's gl-"
"I swear to God, Mom, if you say global warming, I'm hanging up," I warn her, because as much as I love my parents, their global warming lectures drive me up the wall. "And why is Dad driving you? What happened to your car?"
"It's in the shop. The brake pads needed to be replaced."
"Oh." I absently open a box of lasagna sheets. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Nana's lasagna recipe. It serves eight, right?"
"Ten," she corrects.
Frowning, I think about all the food Garrett shoveled into his pie hole when he came to the diner last week, then multiply that by four hockey players and …
"Crap," I mutter. "I still don't think that's enough. If I wanted to serve twenty, do I just double the ingredients, or is there a different way to calculate it?"
Mom pauses. "Why exactly are you cooking lasagna for twenty people?"
"I'm not. But I am feeding four hockey players who I imagine have the appetites of twenty people."
"I see." There's another pause and I can practically hear her smiling over the line. "Is one of these four hockey players someone … special?"
"You can just ask me if he's my boyfriend, Mom. You don't have to be cheesy about it."
"Fine. Is he your boyfriend?"
"Nope. I mean, we're kinda seeing each other, I guess-" Kinda? He just made you come! "-but we're friends more than anything."
Friends who make each other come.
I silence the annoying voice in my voice and swiftly change the subject. "Do you have time to quickly talk me through the recipe?"
"Of course."
Five minutes later, I hang up the phone and start preparing dinner for the guy who made me come today.
28
Garrett
THE HOUSE SMELLS like an Italian restaurant when I walk through the door. I turn to Logan, who shoots me a WTF look, and I shrug as if to say fuck if I know, because I honestly don't know. I bend down to unlace my scuffed black boots, then follow the mouthwatering aroma to the kitchen. When I reach the doorway, I blink like I've just stumbled upon a desert mirage.
Hannah's sexy ass greets my eyes. She's angled over the oven door, wearing Tuck's pink oven mitts as she pulls a steaming pan of lasagna off the middle shelf. At the sound of my footsteps, she glances over her shoulder and smiles. "Oh, hey. Perfect timing."
All I can do is gape at her.
"Garrett? Hello?"
"You made dinner?" I sputter.
Her cheerful expression falters slightly. "Yeah. Is that okay?"
I'm too stunned-and genuinely touched-to answer.
Fortunately, Dean appears in the doorway and answers for me. "Baby doll, that smells fantastic."
Tucker trails in after Dean. "I'll set the table," he pipes up.
My three roommates lumber into the kitchen, Tucker and Dean going to help Hannah, while Logan stands beside me, looking amazed.
"She cooks too?" he sighs.
Something about his tone-well, not something, since it's the unmistakable note of longing that causes my guard to shoot up ten feet. Fuck. He can't actually be into her, can he? I figured he just wanted to sleep with her, but the way he's looking at her right now …
I don't fucking like it.
"Dude, keep it in your pants," I mutter, which summons a chuckle from Logan, who obviously knows what I was thinking and my opinion about said thoughts.
"Shit, this looks amazing," Tucker says as he stands over the lasagna dish with a knife and serving spatula.
The five of us settle at the table, which Hannah actually took the time to not only clean, but cover with a blue-and-white tablecloth. Aside from my mother, no female has ever cooked dinner for me before. I kinda … like it.
"So are you dressing up tomorrow?" Tucker asks Hannah as he heaps a modest-sized square of lasagna onto her plate.
"For what?"
Tuck grins. "Halloween, dumbass."
Hannah lets out a groan. "Oh crap. That's tomorrow? I swear, I have no concept of time."
"My costume suggestion for you?" Dean chimes in. "Sexy nurse. Actually, fuck that, we live in the modern world-sexy doctor. Oooh, or sexy navy pilot."
"I'm not dressing up as sexy anything, thank you very much. It's bad enough that I'm stuck passing out drinks at the dorm crawl."
I chuckle. "Shit, you got roped into doing that?" The annual Halloween dorm crawl involves people popping into a dorm, getting free drinks, and then moving on to the next building. I've heard it's actually a lot more fun than it sounds.
She sticks out her chin glumly. "I did it last year too. It sucked. You guys better stop in at Bristol House if you're planning on going."
"I'd love to, gorgeous," Logan says in a flirty tone that makes me stiffen. "Don't expect G here to show up, though."
She looks over at me. "You're not going out on Halloween?"
"Nope," I reply.
"Why not?"
"Because he hates Halloween," Dean informs her. "He's scared of ghosts."
I flip him the bird. But rather than own up to the real reason I hate October thirty-first with every fiber of my being, I just shrug and say, "It's a pointless holiday with silly traditions."
Logan snickers. "Says the Fun Police."
Tucker finishes serving everyone, then sits down and shoves a fork into his lasagna. "Motherfucker, that's good," he mumbles between mouthfuls.
After that, all conversation ceases to exist, because the guys and I are ravenous after three hours of shooting drills, which means we've turned into cavemen. We waste no time demolishing the lasagna, garlic bread and Caesar salad Hannah made for us. And I mean demolishing. There's barely half a serving left in the pan by the time we're through with it.
"I knew I should have tripled the recipe," Hannah says ruefully, staring at the empty dishes in wonder. Then she tries to get up to clear the table, at which point Tucker all but bodychecks her out of the kitchen.
"My mama taught me manners, Wellsy." He gives her a stern look. "Someone cooks for you, you clean. Period." His head swivels to the doorway just as Logan and Dean try to sneak out. "Where're you ladies going? Dishes, assholes. G, you get a free pass since you have to drive our lovely chef home."
In the hall, I plant my hands on Hannah's waist and crook my neck to kiss her. "Why can't you be taller?" I grumble.
"Why can't you be shorter?" she counters.
I brush my lips over hers. "Thanks for cooking dinner. That was really sweet of you."
A blush tints her cheeks. "I figured I owed you … you know … " The pinkish tinge darkens to red. "Because you're a sex god and all."
I chuckle. "Does that mean every time I give you an orgasm you'll cook me a meal?"
"Nope. Tonight was a one-time deal. No more home-cooked meals for you." She stands on her tiptoes and brings her mouth to my ear. "But I still get the orgasms."
Like I could ever, ever say no to that.
"Come on, I'll drive you back. You've got an early class tomorrow, right?" I'm surprised to realize that I actually know her schedule.
I'm not sure what's happening between us. I mean, I agreed to help her with her sex problem, but … problem solved, right? She got what she wanted from me, and we didn't even need to have sex to make it happen. So technically, there's no reason for her to sleep with me. Or even keep seeing me, for that matter.
And me … well, I don't want a girlfriend. My attention is and has always been focused solely on hockey, graduating, and the draft I'm planning on entering come graduation. Not to mention impressing the scouts who are already starting to show up at our games. Now that the season is in full swing, this means more practices and games and less time to devote to anything-or anyone-other than hockey.
So why does the thought of not spending any more time with Hannah bring the oddest clench of regret to my gut?
She tries to take a step down the hall, but I tug on her hand and kiss her again, and this time it's not a peck. I kiss her hard, losing myself in her taste and her heat and every damn thing about her. I never expected her. Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don't know how you ever lived without them. How you went about your day and hung out with your friends and fucked other people without having this one important person in your life.