Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend: An Enemies To Lovers Romance (The Sweet Twins Collection)

Chapter Eleven

Hannah

Chris turns on the oven and hands me a pair of tongs. Using the knife he cut the bok choy with, he pushes the slices off into the bowl and says, “Mix it gently so you don’t tear the leaves, okay? You’ve got this.”

My mind races with the moment we shared earlier. What was that? Was he going to kiss me? Why would Chris kiss me? And why did I want him to?

Because I did want him to. I’ve kissed men before. Not many, but I have kissed them. The thing is that when I go on dates, they always lean in for the kiss, and I pull away, afraid of what comes after the kiss.

What does come after the kiss, I wonder, as I absentmindedly stir the bok choy.

“What are you thinking about over there?” Chris asks me as he cuts a chicken. I’m grateful that he doesn’t ask me to help him with that. He seems aware of his audience.

Kissing you. What comes after a kiss.

“I need to use the restroom,” I blurt out.

Looking confused, Chris tells me, “Okay, you’re allowed. Right down there.”

He uses his knife to point to a door visible down the hallway.

Embarrassed by my earlier admission, I nod and set the bowl down then walk calmly to the door, so that it doesn’t appear that I’m about to burst.

Once in there, I close the door of the bathroom and lean against it with both hands, holding it shut as though barricading it, as though Chris might break the door down and tell me that he knows I’m thinking about him romantically.

And I am, right? I’m thinking about Chris romantically? I’m having fun and thinking about having fun like this every day for the rest of my life…well, it doesn’t have to be Chris.

It could be fun to build a life with a man, and for the first time, I see that. I see how easy it would be to cook dinner together and giggle and…well, anyway, it doesn’t have to be Chris.

Just a man. If Tyler can find a good man just by accidentally being his roommate, maybe I could purposefully find love.

My breathing returning to normal, I turn and survey the bathroom for the first time, unfurling my eyes from their anxiously squeezed position.

I realize, not the first time, that Chris has money.

You know someone has money when they miss the theft of over $120,00 a year from their business. He lives very well and his apartment is to die for.

His appliances are high end stainless steel, with a sub-zero frig and a Wolf range. The beautiful carved wood trim in his home is painted a deep forest green.

His floors are made of a dark gray concrete that looks surprisingly elegant against his plush, white furniture. Small pops of color like the yellow runner in the hallway and white curtains with orange flowers show evidence of his keen design eye. Or someone’s keen eye, anyway.

The bathroom is no different. Soap, mouthwash, and lotion all sit next to each other on a large vanity sink, labeled in amber pump bottles. The sink is a copper basin – and this is just the guest bath.

I pull aside his tasteful gray shower curtain to reveal a bouquet of eucalyptus and lavender hanging from the showerhead.

I flush the toilet to make it seem like I actually used it, and turn on the faucet.

As I turn around to leave the bathroom, I see that on the wall right next to the bathroom door is the sketch I drew of Chris. He’s framed it in a small, copper frame that matches the sink.

I rip the door open and walk with purpose back to the kitchen where I find Chris closing the oven. His hands are covered in small, baby blue oven mitts.

“Are you okay? Did you find everything—”

“Chris, did you frame that picture I drew of you?”

A playful, childish smile, like one you might see on a young boy after pulling a prank, crosses his face.

“I did. It’s good. And I bet since you signed it, it’s going to be worth a lot one day.”

“You think so, huh?”

“I know so. You’re special, Hannah, and even if it isn’t for art, you are going to be known, and I’m going to pay off a small boat with that one day.”

“You don’t really think that,” I tell him seriously.

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“I thought so.”

“I won’t really sell it. I love it too much. I might just get it blown up even bigger. Maybe I’ll commission a mural, a Hannah Jackson print on my wall. Everyone will be so jealous.”

He’s leaning against the oven, cocked at an irregular angle, his dark spirals of hair flopped over his forehead. His grin is self-assured, easy going, and teasing.

“What wall do you think it would be good on? I’m thinking right there in front,” he points, “so that when you walk in it’s the –”

I can’t take it anymore. His floppy hair, his chiseled arms twitching with movement, his red lips glistening from licking them. I take one big step toward him, so that I’m right in front of him.

He straightens, and I wonder if he knows what’s coming. I place my hands on his cheeks, close my eyes, and stand on my tiptoes to press my mouth against his.

His body immediately responds as his hands fly to my waist, landing on my hips, then spreading across my lower back. He pulls me into him, his hands pressing into my back, pushing our hips against each other’s.

My hands slide down his cheeks to the tops of his shoulders, settling on his traps. I relax off my tiptoes, and he bends to meet me where I am before walking toward me, forcing me backward against his kitchen counter.

His kiss is firm and warm. His lips feel tethered to my vagina, and the more pressure he uses, and the more his tongue probes my mouth, the wetter I get.

Chris’ hands sink down to my ass, and I don’t know if I should let it keep going or not.

I should tell him I’m a virgin, I know I should. I should stop him and ask about Tyler, ask about him being a client, ask about Julie.

Julie. My eyes fly open with the memory of running into her at the bookstore. I completely forgot to tell him, and I don’t want him to think I’m keeping it from him.

Would Chris pine after her when I’m right here? If Julie wanted him back, would he go back? She is older, and she seems like everythingng I’m not.

“What’s wrong?” Chris asks, pulling away. His hands still rest against my ass, and I wonder if he knows he left them there. He kisses my cheeks. “Tell me.”