It was the oddest thing having Cherisse hovering, watching him as he prepped the dish. He refused to let her help. Not because he was fussy about people in his space when he was cooking. Far from it, he liked company in the kitchen, but he figured he’d put her through enough this morning. She’d earned her rest. He felt the prickle of her gaze on the back of his neck as he added the seasoned fish pieces to the pot.
“You use the heads and all?” she asked.
“Of course, best part.” He turned away from the stove in time to see her nod in agreement. “My dad loved to eat the eyes,” he admitted. “I was grossed out by it enough as a kid that I’ll eat the meat but never the eyes.”
“I eat the eyes.” Cherisse tossed him a challenging wink, and Keiran gave a full-body shudder.
Scooby trotted into the kitchen, jumping up on Cherisse, begging for some affection, and acting like the most neglected dog in the world.
“Scooby, down!” Keiran chided. Scooby knew how to manipulate those who weren’t privy to his tricks.
“It’s fine,” Cherisse said, patting Scooby’s head. That sealed it—she’d won over Scooby forever. He was easy. Head pats and belly rubs were all it took. She was winning Keiran over, too. Even being a cat owner, she obviously liked dogs as well. Points in her favor.
“He knows he isn’t supposed to jump on guests.” Keiran leaned against the counter, watching as Scooby basked in the attention. Was it pathetic to be jealous of your dog? Cherisse was down on her haunches now, letting Scooby wriggle himself into a frenzy over her touches. Keiran couldn’t help but wonder if he’d react the same. Foolish thought. As if he’d ever get touched by Cherisse like that.
When the fish broth was ready, Keiran was suddenly overtaken by a barrage of nerves. Used to cooking for his friends, he was confident his fish broth was on point. Watching Cherisse take her first sip, the flipping feeling in his stomach was back—different this time, but still battering his insides.
“Oh, this is good.” Cherisse seemed genuinely surprised as she dug into her bowl for another spoonful. “You should have another early morning baking class with me. With this soup and my treats, you’ll be marriage material in no time,” she joked.
“I think I manage with what I’ve got, but thanks,” he replied drily.
“I’m telling you, baking will level you up.”
“You’re just trying to find another way to boss me around for fun, aren’t you?”
Cherisse shrugged, but her mischievous smile said he wasn’t too far off with his assumption. “But you’re so good at taking instructions.” She rooted around in her bowl, breaking the skin of the fish and scooping out the eye. “Consider it.” She waved the spoon with the fish eye close to his face.
“Hey, now, that’s playing dirty.” He slid his chair back.
“But it’s so much fun to play dirty.”
Keiran’s breath whooshed out his mouth. His brain went right to the gutter. She hadn’t meant it that way, surely, but his body tightened all the same. Playing dirty with Cherisse sounded downright fun. He cleared his throat. “Right.”
Cherisse’s hand hovered there, the fish eye smack in the middle of the spoon, swimming in broth. The feeling in the room shifted, wound tighter as if any sudden movement on both their parts would shatter the tension that was swiftly building. Keiran swallowed. Cherisse’s eyes dipped to his throat, then back up to his face, so quickly, he was sure he’d imagined it. Their staring match went on for what felt like minutes but had to be a couple of seconds, at best.
Scooby’s nails clicked against the floor as he padded over to them, and the spell was broken. Cherisse pulled back her hand and popped the fish eye and broth in her mouth, cheeks hollowing like she was sucking a sweet—instead, she was cleaning the meat that clung to the eye. She spat the eye out and grinned at Keiran.
“Delish.”
Now she was the one teasing him, in more ways than one. The double entendre had been unintended. Didn’t stop his brain from trying to go there. Her massacre of the fish eye didn’t put a damper on that. If anything, it weirdly made him wonder how she’d use her tongue otherwise.
Bad brain. Stop this.
“I’ll eat yours if you want?”
Keiran choked on his broth. She definitely hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. Had she? He peered at her as she stared back at him, the question magnified by the way her head was cocked, waiting for his reply.
“Uh, sure, yeah, it’s yours. All yours.” Be cool. Be the guy who was in the studio earlier, not this awkward loser.
Except, studio Keiran didn’t quite know how to deal with perceived double meanings that sounded way dirtier than they’d been intended.
He should’ve just let her leave, not prolonged their time together. This felt too intimate all of a sudden. Cooking for friends was one way they bonded. They’d each bring a dish. He’d whip up his own thing. Drinks, food, and lively conversation was their MO. With Cherisse, it felt too cozy, too...everything. His brain was rapidly supplying all sorts of nonsensical ideas.
He didn’t need any of this. He sure knew how to add unnecessary complications to his own life.
Jesus, take the wheel.
Chapter 14
Cherisse
HER KITCHEN SMELLED like heaven, a delicious mix of the cakes in the oven, and the sugary concoctions in the shot glasses before her.
Perfect. The red velvet shooters were ready for sampling. Jello had clearly thought so, too—she’d had to shoo him away from the shooters several times. He hadn’t liked that one bit, but he strolled out of the kitchen, tail swishing as if he didn’t care that he’d been denied a taste. He generally stayed clear of the kitchen when she was in the baking zone, but after, he’d come sniffing around to try his luck. Not that he ever got lucky.
She licked away a smidge of cream cheese frosting that somehow managed to get on the side of her hand, then grabbed up the two shot glasses and one of the extra treats she’d whipped up for herself, a strawberry Jell-O mousse parfait.
She allowed herself a small smile as the sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “I Did It My Way” piped through her apartment.
“I see we’re going way old-school here,” she noted.
Keiran looked up from where his laptop and speakers were set up. Jello had planted himself right next to Keiran, looking mighty cozy, so disloyal. “Well, it is a classic. I say it makes the list.”
Cherisse plunked the shot glasses and the cup down on the table. Keiran eyed them with interest. It was still weird that he no longer acted as if her treats were poisoned. He’d never actually admitted to eating her macarons, but Cherisse suspected he had. Jello’s yellow stare was fixed on the glass, too.
“I need some feedback. I’m making a variation of these for the wedding, so I wanted to do a smaller setup for the slumber shower, and since you’re already here, you get to sample.”
They’d decided to meet up at her apartment to discuss music for the wedding shower. Cherisse had already chosen today for her baking test runs, so Keiran coming over was easier. He’d been going through a playlist while she sorted herself in the kitchen.
She slid one of the shooters closer to his hand before digging into hers. She’d gone really simple with these: layers of red velvet cake, with cream cheese frosting in between, and homemade whipped cream, topping everything off. She debated whether to have some chocolate shavings on top and decided she’d try with her next batch.
“Looks good,” Keiran said.
“High praise from the King himself.”
The last couple of weeks, they’d been texting and meeting sporadically, schedules permitting, to discuss all things shower-related. She’d noticed little things about Keiran that had slid right by her oblivious teen self. He enjoyed pushing her buttons. That wasn’t anything new; she’d known that. She recalled a particularly heated argument they’d had over sucker bags. The frozen treat had been a staple on a hot day. Their neighbor sold both fruity and milky options. The treat
was simple enough for anyone to make themselves since it involved pouring the juice or milk into plastic sandwich bags and placing them in the freezer until they froze, but the neighborhood still supported by buying. Cherisse couldn’t even remember what prompted the fight, but a shouting match had erupted over which kind was better. By the end of it, she’d been red in the face, ranting, while he’d stood there, smirking at her for having lost her cool.
What was new was the realization that it was truly not done out of malice. Every time he said something ridiculous, she’d scowl, then he’d smirk, and his eyes—those deep brown depths that made her think of chocolate ganache—held amusement and affection. The kind you’d maybe give to a friend.
Did that mean they were friends now? Had they outgrown their petty squabbling? She sensed they were slowly making their way there. Maybe.
“Tastes even better,” she said, spooning a mix of the cakey goodness in her mouth. He watched her intently. She focused on the shooter. The cake was moist and flavorful, not too teeth-jarringly sweet. The frosting was an excellent counterbalance, and her from-scratch whipped cream was on point. “Oh yeah, this is good.”
He cracked an amused smile. “Why do you sound so surprised? You made this.”
“Just good to know I’m not losing my touch.” She buffed her fingers against her shoulder then blew on them.
He had the glass in his hand, just twisting it around and around, observing her as she ate, before finally digging his spoon in. “Red velvet?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“My fave.” He stuck the cake in his mouth and chewed. She watched his face closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Even if he hated it, it didn’t mean she would scrap the entire idea. She’d just get another opinion. But she was curious to see his reaction.
As she watched him, “I Did It My Way” gave way to another Sinatra song, “The Way You Look Tonight.” She made a mental checkmark next to that one. It should definitely be on the list. Her sister loved this song. She did, too. They’d grown up with their father blasting Sinatra songs every Sunday afternoon.
“Jesus, this is...” Keiran’s tongue darted out to lick away a trace of whipped cream from his spoon. “Heaven on a spoon,” he finished.
Cherisse felt her face split into a wide grin. He scraped the bottom of the shot glass, doing another of those slow spoon licks that had Cherisse following every move his tongue made. His eyes caught hers, and Cherisse’s neck felt warm. Busted.
His smile was slow, sultry, as he dropped the spoon in the glass. “This definitely makes the dessert menu.”
Her head bobbed up and down. “Yup.” He needed to quit looking at her like that as if she were the next thing he wanted to sample.
He pointed at the parfait cup. “What’s that one?”
She swiped up the cup. “Off-limits. It’s a strawberry Jell-O parfait. Not for sampling.” She dipped her spoon in the mousse on the top and popped it into her mouth. Delicious. She had a few more in the fridge and could share, but did she want to? Not really. She was selfishly possessive of her Jell-O treats.
Keiran shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “You weren’t kidding about liking Jell-O, were you? What’s the fascination with it?”
Cherisse shrugged. “I always just liked the wobbliness of it when I was younger. I dunno, it’s a fun thing to eat.”
“You do know what gelatin’s made from, right?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. Of course, she did. Her curiosity about her favorite dessert had sent her on a Google spree. She’d gotten the shock of her life, but then she’d shrugged it off. Who cared what it came from? Jell-O was life.
She polished off the Jell-O at the bottom of the cup. “Don’t care. Still gonna eat it.” She licked her spoon clean, and his eyes tracked every swipe of her tongue. He wasn’t even being subtle about it. Payback, motherfucker.
He abruptly got to his feet and stretched out his hand. “In keeping with our you-show-me-yours, I-show-you-mine theme, I sampled your thing; now, we test run mine.”
She frowned at his hand. “What does that mean?”
He bent over his laptop, played around with the mouse until “The Way You Look Tonight” was back on repeat, then motioned again for her to take his hand. “Only way to know if the song works is to test it.”
He was asking her to dance. Just like at Bootleggers, except this time, it was just them. She stared up at him as if he’d lost it. Their truce didn’t include dancing.
“I don’t think—”
“It’s just a dance,” he interrupted. “No big deal, right?”
Oh, this motherfucker. There he went again, pushing her buttons. She was onto him now. That widening grin said as much. If she protested too much, it would seem like dancing with him was a big deal when it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. She could do this, no problem.
She rose to her feet, placed her hand in his, and squeaked in surprise when he spun her right into his embrace. The closeness was shocking. She felt every bit of his hard body against her, the same body he’d bared to her hungry gaze in that fucking towel. Cherisse nearly tripped over her feet at that memory as they swayed around her living room. Dammit. Her heart was pounding so loudly, at least to her ears. She wondered if he could hear it. The pulse in her neck hammered away. Fuck, this was new. She didn’t like it one bit.
That why you’re clutching his arm like that?
Was she really? She relaxed her grip. He couldn’t know that this, their closeness, was affecting her in any way.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine. Great. Marvelous.” Pathetic. That’s what she was. Where was the cool-as-a-cucumber Sugar Queen who could give back anything Keiran could toss at her?
“Heart’s beating a bit fast there.”
“You can feel that?” she asked, absolutely mortified.
He laughed and spun her away, not missing a beat with the music. This time when their bodies met again, their faces were so close, she felt his breath on her cheek when he said, “I can feel everything.”
Just what the hell did he mean by that?
And his words made her all too aware of the lower half of his body. Those thighs clad in those cursed sweatpants.
As they swayed, it was getting harder to catch her breath. The song clearly worked. They should stop this. Keiran’s proximity was too much. If she said she was feeling uncomfortable now, he’d stop, except discomfort wasn’t her current emotion. Keiran’s gaze never left her face as they kept swaying. His touch at her waist felt like it would burn its way through her clothes to her skin beneath.
“Cherisse.” Her name was a whisper, one she could barely hear over the roaring in her ears. That damn heartbeat, triple-timing it. But oh, she heard it. Heard the way her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. Noticed the way his eyes dropped to her mouth. It was a question, too. May I?
“Yeah?” Her casualness belied the banging of her heart against her chest. Was it normal for a heart to race like this? How was she still alive?
“I...this will sound...Jesus, I don’t even know, but can I...?” He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. He drew in a deep breath, eyes still fixed to her mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lip, which in turn drew her gaze. Lips slightly parted, his breath unsteady, the mood shifted, tension crackling between their bodies.
“Do it.” The words slipped past her lips before she could instruct her brain to reel them in, hold them back, but she held his stare. Waiting. Consent had been given, and in the same breath, a challenge had been issued. She didn’t move. She was waiting too now. Wanting...
She felt the brush of his lips against hers right down to her toes.
Keiran was kissing her, and she’d let him. Knew she could’ve ended it before his lips ever touched hers, but the wanting got the better of her. She was even more shocked when she turned the simple brush of his lips against hers into something deeper, hotter. Her hands gripped the back of his neck as her tongue tangled with
his. He tasted sweet, like the dessert he’d so hungrily licked from his spoon. Now she had that same tongue in her mouth, feasted on it, pressing into his body as much as she could.
She felt him hard against her. Sweatpants truly were a gift from God. She should pull back, stop this. She was kissing Keiran King! There was nothing to prepare her for that. But her touch-starved body was leading the show, enjoying the way his hands rested right above her ass, slowly kneading at her lower back, driving her wild. He couldn’t know it was one of her zones—she loved having her ass fondled—but damn if he hadn’t found it without even really trying.
She envisioned him grasping her ass firmly in his hands, rubbing, teasing, learning the feel of her, and before she’d even made the conscious decision, she was moving them backwards towards her couch. He was helping. They were both in sync on where their bodies wanted to go as they kept on kissing, exploring each other’s wet heat. This was definitely hazardous, this blind shuffle to the couch. She hoped Jello was observant enough to get out of the way, but she didn’t want this kiss to end. Her body wanted one thing: to get him down there so she could straddle him, keep kissing, keep nibbling, do something about the building ache between her legs. The bulge she felt against her could help with that just fine. A slow grind against that hardness was next on her agenda.
They were almost there when a loud, incessant chiming made him pull away, frowning. “What—”
Shit! Her cakes!
She untangled from his hold, reality rushing back in. She’d been kissing Keiran, while another Sinatra song swelled around them, while her oven had been signaling the cakes were ready. She had no idea how long the chiming had been going on for. All she knew was panic was setting in.
She’d kissed Keiran. Jesus, what was she thinking?
“Cherry,” he started. Using her nickname jolted her into action. She didn’t wait to hear the rest and fled to the kitchen instead to remove the cakes from the oven and clear her head because she’d fucked up. Her heart was a drumline, threatening to leap right out of her chest—this time, not in anticipation.
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