His fingers dig into my hips almost painfully as his tongue traces his bottom lip. I can sense the desire rolling off him in waves.
I shoot him a coy smile, loving how tense his body now is. “Go cook for me; I’ll see how good it is first.” Winking, I ease off his lap and settle myself on the sofa.
He groans, and his head drops back as he closes his eyes in defeat. “Damn, I don’t think I’m going to survive tonight. If it’s as good as last time, I might meet Jesus.”
Laughing, I chew on my thumbnail as I watch his pained expression, and his gaze turns to me. I love the power I have over him right now; I’ve honestly never felt so sexy or desired as his eyes wander my face and settle on my mouth. He’s two seconds from begging me—I can sense it—so I playfully push his thigh with my foot.
“Go cook for me.”
With a sigh, he pushes himself up, and I try—unsuccessfully—to keep my eyes away from the straining zipper in his suit trousers. I watch as he heads first to his overnight bag, pulling out a carrier bag of groceries, and then to my little kitchenette.
“Is there anything you don’t eat?” he calls, unpacking vegetables, oil, and herbs onto the cluttered worktop.
“Only beetroot.” I shudder at the thought.
“Okay, you’re safe then.” He smiles and turns back to his bag, searching through the cupboards and drawers until he finds my chopping board and the one sharp knife I own.
It’s strange, watching him in there. He’s almost too big for the place. My kitchen is comprised of only six base cupboards with drawers, four top cupboards, a sink, a fridge, and an oven that’s on its last legs. Compared to his sleek, shiny gloss kitchen, mine is like one from The Hobbit, but he doesn’t seem too fazed as he pulls more ingredients from the bag and sets them on the side before washing his hands.
Twisting my seat so I can see him and resting my chin on my hand, I watch, transfixed, as Jared sets about making dinner. He’s a competent chef; I can tell that by how confident and methodical he is as he chops vegetables. It’s surprisingly sexy to watch him cook. He’s taken off his cufflinks and tie and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, so I can see his tanned forearms.
He tidies up after himself as he goes, washing up things he used and wiping over the sides. It’s almost OCD tidy. I bite my lip and smile, my eyes drifting over his back and pert little behind, watching the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he fries what smells like onions and garlic, chops salad, and cracks eggs. He really came prepared!
Jared is most definitely not my usual type. My usual type is silly, goofy, happy-go-lucky, and a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants guy, who, I’ll admit, is likely to still live at home with his mum. Jared is none of that. He’s dependable, organised, and someone you call when you need an adult. It’s different but extremely nice.
Half an hour later, he comes back to me, carrying a plate of something that smells so good that my mouth waters. He sets a can of Dr Pepper—which I know I didn’t have any of, so he must have brought those over too—on the coffee table and passes me a plate containing a wedge of something he made and an artfully arranged side salad. It’s probably the healthiest thing I’ve eaten in weeks. I’m more of a microwave meal or frozen pizza kind of girl.
He smiles almost shyly as I look over at him.
“This looks so good!” I gush. “What is it?” I pick up my knife and fork, cutting into it, my eyes widening as I spot a big slab of cheese on the top.
“Halloumi, red onion, and spinach frittata.”
“You had me at halloumi.” I nod appreciatively.
“Yeah, I figured that would be a hit with my cheese lover.”
I’ve never eaten a frittata before. It sounds like something you’d order off a menu. He stands there, watching, seeming almost worried as I eagerly cut into it and blow on it before taking a tentative bite. I can’t help but moan in appreciation as the flavours hit my tongue. It’s incredible.
“Oh my God,” I mumble, my mouth full. “This is like an orgasm on the tongue. I think we should get married.” It’s only a joke but not really.
“Wow, what a proposal,” he replies, grinning so big that he gets those little lines around his eyes again. He winks at me and heads to the kitchen to get his drink and plate. Then, he comes back and plops down onto the sofa next to me.
“Do you eat like this all the time?” I ask, greedily shovelling in my food.
He shrugs. “Yeah, I like to cook. It’s relaxing. My mum taught me. She’s a chef, so I picked up a few things before I went off to university.”
“Lucky. All my mum taught me about food was how to open jars and how long to microwave bacon for.” I wince at the admission. Cooking is not one of my family’s skill sets. “Also, no wonder you look like that”—I wave my fork at his chest and stomach—“if you eat this healthy kind of stuff every day.”
He shrugs. “I told you, I run a bit too. At lunchtimes and sometimes before work if I have time. I keep in shape because, twice a year, I run a half-marathon to raise money for a dementia charity.”
I raise a suitably impressed eyebrow at the revelation. “Really? A half-marathon?”
He nods. “Yeah, my grandmother had dementia, so I do what I can.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach out and squeeze his arm.
He shrugs and shakes his head, smiling sadly. “It’s okay. She died a while ago, but I like to give back and do what I can. I enjoy running, so it’s not such a hardship,” he replies, finishing his food.
He watches as I devour the last couple of bites of my food, even forcing in the salad to try and impress him. I put my empty plate next to his on the coffee table and resist the urge to lick it clean.
“So … do I get points for effort?” He raises his eyebrows, and I know what he’s asking.
I press my lips into a thin line to suppress my smile as I pretend to consider, secretly knowing I’d do whatever he wanted tonight even if he hadn’t just cooked the best damn meal I’d eaten in forever. “That depends … did you bring any dessert?”
He nods smugly. “French macaroons.”
My eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Oh, well then, you definitely get points for effort,” I reply, laughing as he drops his head back, closes his eyes, and pumps the air with one fist in celebration.
“So, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about,” he says, kissing the skin below my belly button, his teeth scraping against my oversensitive skin.
It’s now Sunday morning, and we’ve spent a blissful weekend together, just hanging out and lazing around.
I close my eyes and softly brush my fingertips across his shoulders, enjoying the sensation. “Hmm?” I’ve not long ago woken up, and I’m so relaxed that I’m almost serene.
“I was wondering,” he says, “if you wanted to be exclusive with me.”
My whole body jerks in shock, and I accidentally knee him in the stomach. He grunts in surprise, and I gasp.
“Oh my God, sorry. Are you okay? I … I …” I wince, sitting up and looking down at him apologetically as I hold the sheet against my naked body.
He laughs and pulls himself up to sitting, too, rubbing at his stomach as he rolls his eyes. “Was it that unexpected?”
Unexpected? Hells yes! Never in my wildest dreams did I expect those words to come from his mouth this early on—okay, so, in my wildest dreams, yes, but not in real life.
“You want to be exclusive?” I ask quietly, my voice barely working.
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Well, I’m not interested in seeing anyone else. Are you?”
I shake my head. I haven’t been interested in anyone else for months. Only him. “No.”
He reaches out and takes my hand, interlacing our fingers, and I pray my palm isn’t sweating from nerves. He shuffles closer to me, our bodies only a hair’s breadth away from each other.
“Amy, I really like you. You’re amazing, we get on great, I’m really int
erested to see where this will go between us, and I can’t think of anyone else I want to be naked with. That pretty much all leads to exclusivity in my book. I don’t want you seeing other guys. The thought of it …” He huffs out a breath and shakes his head as his eyebrows pull together in a frown. “No, I don’t like the thought of that at all.”
My eyes have widened during his speech, and my joy is consuming me. “I’m really interested to see where this goes too.”
“That’s settled then?”
I nod in agreement, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip so I don’t ruin the moment with one of my word-vomit outbursts. He nods, too, his eyes twinkling as he smiles that heart-stopping smile and leans in, pressing his lips to mine.
Just as the kiss is beginning to get hot and my skin is starting to come alive with sensation and need, he pulls back. “There’s something else,” he says, cupping my neck with one hand, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
“Something else? What else is there?” I raise one eyebrow in prompt.
“Now that we’re exclusive, I think we’re ready to take the next step in our relationship.”
“Oh?” I cock my head to the side, not having a clue as to what he is talking about.
His mouth opens and closes, and he gulps before saying, “I think we’re ready to commit to a Netflix series.” He presses his lips into a thin line and waits for my reaction.
I burst out laughing at his randomness and roll my eyes. Pushing myself up, I climb onto his lap, straddling him, wrapping my arms around him. I revel in the skin-on-skin contact as every inch of me presses against every inch of him so intimately that it makes me almost purr in contentment. “That’s a big step, Jared,” I joke.
He nods. “I know, but I think we’re ready.”
He leans in and kisses me, his tongue exploring mine, and my whole body tightens with excitement. We are absolutely ready.
He pulls back after a couple of seconds. “We need to have a rule though: no skipping ahead and watching extra episodes without the other person being there. We only watch together. Do we have a deal?”
I sit back on my heels and bite my lip as I bring my right hand up between our bodies, little finger extended. “I pinkie swear.”
Jared laughs as he looks down at it, but then he copies me, wrapping his little finger around mine as he shakes it. “Pinkie swear,” he confirms. “This constitutes a binding contract. You know that, right?”
“I don’t take pinkie swears lightly.”
He laughs, and when I go to pounce on him, he pulls back, and his eyebrows knit together in a frown.
“That wasn’t what I was actually going to ask you. I just chickened out at the last second,” he confesses, seeming a little awkward and nervous.
“Okay?” I’m intrigued now.
He takes a deep breath and seems to steel himself as he strokes his thumb across my cheek. “Next month, on Bonfire Night, there’s a party for my dad’s birthday at my parents’ house. Do you want to come?”
My mouth drops open in shock, and I almost choke on fresh air. “To meet your family?”
He nods, his eyes searching mine. “I understand if you think it’s too soon for all the meet the family stuff, but I’d just like you to be there. You can say no if you want to; I’ll understand. It’s a big thing to meet the family, especially all the family in one go. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end.” He laughs and rakes a hand through his hair.
I gulp. Both nervousness and exhilaration hit me at full force. He wants me to meet his family. He is that serious about me? This information thrills me. Bonfire Night is almost four weeks away.
“You think we’ll still be together then?” I tease, trying not to let my happiness show.
“Yes.” He recoils a little, his eyebrows shooting up in shock. “Don’t you?”
I like his shock. It is almost like he hasn’t even considered we wouldn’t be.
“Yeah I do,” I confirm. “At least, I know I’ll still want to be with you,” I admit sheepishly. I’ll still want to be with him when we’re ghosts, so next month is nothing. “I’d like to come with you.”
He relaxes then, his shoulders losing some of the tension as he smiles. “My family is going to go crazy for you,” he says, tickling his fingers down the sensitive skin over my ribs.
I grin and throw myself at him, ending the conversation as my need for him becomes unbearable. With Jared, enough is never enough.
twelve
“So, you met this guy in a coffee shop?” Tim, Heather’s fiancé, asks, taking a large gulp of his beer.
Heather and I exchange a glance and nod in unison. Tim is adorable and has a heart of gold, but he can’t lie or keep a secret to save his life once he has more than two pints of beer inside him, and I don’t want him drunkenly blurting out that I’ve been in love with Jared since before he even knew I existed. I love the guy like a brother, so I don’t want to have to junk-punch him.
“Yep,” I lie.
The bar we’re in is rapidly filling up. It’s always busy on a Friday night here, and tonight will be even busier because there is a band playing. We haven’t seen them play before, but their poster looked intriguing enough for us to arrange this little double date where I’ll get to show Jared off for the first time. We’re seated off to one side on a tall table, and my feet dangle precariously at least a foot off the ground. I can barely even reach the footrest. These stools were not designed with short people in mind.
“Oh, did I tell you I almost died today?” I announce dramatically, shaking back the sleeve of my shirt to reveal scratches up my forearm in example.
Tim and Heather both look at me quizzically.
“Funny story, but don’t repeat this to Jared when he gets here. I don’t want him feeling guilty about it.” I give them a pointed look.
Tim scrunches up his nose. “Is this gonna be some weird sex thing? Because if it is, I don’t want to hear it.”
Heather grins. “Ooh, I definitely want to hear it!”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Nothing like that. So, a couple of days ago, Jared announced that he wanted to fix Bessy. He turned up with tools and everything. Apparently, he’d noticed my brakes needed tightening or something when we met at that coffee shop, and he’d been thinking about it ever since.”
“Aww, cute,” Heather cuts in.
I nod and grin. “So, he fixed up my bike, right? Bloody thing works like a dream now; the wheel doesn’t squeak or anything. I was riding her home from the shop, bags full of food dangling from my handlebars”—I mime holding handlebars—“and I was minding my own business when I spot the cutest dog, like, a hundred yards up, right? So, I pulled the brakes to start to slow down—because Bessy takes that long to stop, so you have to have a bit of forethought when riding her. And the bike just stopped. Just like that.” I click my fingers. “I wasn’t prepared. My feet didn’t move off the pedals because, mentally, I was coming to a slow stop a hundred yards up, next to the pup. I literally just wobbled and fell off. The bike fell on top of me, my bags split, and my food went everywhere. There was a tin of spaghetti and sausages I didn’t even manage to find after, so I don’t know where that went. Also, I was slowly being crushed to death by Bessy, too, because she is heavy! Luckily, some old lady saw me and yanked me out. My arse hurts something rotten. And the worst part? I didn’t even get to stroke the dog!”
Heather laughs. “Mate, you are a liability!”
Tim rolls his eyes and picks up the jug full of frothy, murky orange liquid and refills my glass. “Here, you earned this for the longest, most ridiculous story of the day.”
I grin and pick up my drink, tipping my glass in silent cheers. “I’ll drink to that!”
“So, what have you been doing for your two weeks off?” Tim asks.
“I can’t believe my holiday is almost finished,” I groan. “But it’s been fun, and I feel so relaxed. I went to see my mum and nan for a few days last week, and then this week, I’ve just be
en hanging with Jared a lot. We painted my bathroom the other day and went bowling. Other than that, we’ve just been chilling. Oh, but we have been watching Stranger Things.”
Tim’s eyes grow excited at that. “Have you finished the new season? Did you cry?”
“Whoa, spoilers!” I hold my hand up and shh him loudly. “No! Turns out, Jared hadn’t seen any of them. Can you believe it? I told him we had to watch it. We went back to the beginning and started over, so he could catch up, and then we’ll watch the new episodes together when we get there. I’ll admit, it’s slow-going though. We’ve been watching almost a week now and still haven’t made it through season one.”
Tim frowns in confusion. “How come? It’s only, like, eight episodes. You can do that in a couple of days, easy.”
My eyes drop to the table, and I fight a smile. “We get distracted a lot.”
He scoffs, and Heather giggles.
Where I’m sitting, facing the door, I see Jared step in, and my heart stutters in my chest. “Ooh, there he is!” I squeal excitedly and stand, balancing precariously on the footrest of my stool, wobbling uncertainly as I wave to get his attention.
He takes a couple of seconds but finally sees me waving like a loon over the crowd and raises a hand in acknowledgement.
“That’s him?” Tim asks, staring at Jared as he strides confidently towards us, struggling because the room has really filled in the hour we’ve already been here.
I nod proudly and notice Tim’s frowning—scowling in fact.
“What the hell, Amy? Why is he good-looking? You normally drag home geeky, nerdy guys with crap haircuts, who look like they got dressed in the dark. They usually make me feel good about myself.” He turns back to me and looks a little affronted about it. “I’m always the good-looking male when we double date.”
“Really?” Heather says, faking disbelief before sending him a playful wink.
“Ha-ha,” he scoffs and looks back at Jared, who’s still working his way through the crowd. “Jesus, he looks like he should be in an aftershave advert. He’s every girl’s wet dream. Ugh, I should have put on a shirt.” He looks down at his jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing. He looks smart-casual, like he always does.
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