9. KAYLA
9
M y nose forces my feet out of my room, following the smell of oregano and cheese with a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey tucked underneath my arm.
My eyes land on the finest male specimen I’ve ever seen when I reach the open plan kitchen. He’s standing in front of the six-burner stove, his toned back clear in his white t-shirt. Gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and I don’t need him to turn around to know he’ll give me a supermodel smile the second he does. He’s like any girl’s wet dream and he sure as hell is mine. Bodi McKay is in a different league than all the boys I’d met at Stanford.
He’s all man and I don’t think I will ever be able to look at any other boy my age as something I’m interested in. He already ruined me last summer, making it almost impossible to look at Trent the same when we got back together in the fall, but now that I’ve been spending the last few days with Bodi, I’m officially done for.
Like I used to love grocery store sushi, and now he’s taking me to fucking Japan to taste the real thing and there is no fucking way back. He’s fucking high class sushi and I can’t settle with anything less anymore.
That makes no sense, but weirdly it does in my head.
I should’ve never agreed to the no-flirting rule, because how the hell am I supposed to do that when he looks like this every time we get out of work?
He glances over his shoulder as if he feels my presence, shooting me that swoon-worthy smile I was talking about, basically making me want to melt into the floor.
“Dinner is almost ready,” he announces, then turns his focus back to grating the cheese.
On the gray marble of the kitchen island are two plates set, and I slide onto one of the stools. “What are you cooking?”
“Lasagna.”
“You’re cooking me dinner?”
“You don’t cook, and I’m not going to eat any more fast food,” he explains, referring to the Wendy’s takeout we had for dinner last night.
“You have to admit, though, that burger was good, right?” I press my tongue against my teeth as my lips fight to smile.
He waggles his head, yet doesn’t turn around. “It was better than McDonald’s, but I still think my fresh burgers are better.”
“You’re so hard to please.”
“Depends.” Our gazes tangle together, and I can see the double meaning in his lust-filled eyes before he quickly continues what he’s doing.
His arm moves to one of the upper cabinets, taking out two wine glasses, then he pours some red wine from the bottle sitting on the counter into both of them. A strange tingle moves through my organs, watching how he moves around the kitchen with comfort, mesmerizing me with his every move.
When he turns around, our eyes lock and my breath stops for a brief moment as he offers me a glass. For just a few seconds, I’m speechless until he raises his brows in anticipation.
“I’m nineteen.”
“I’m aware.”
A frown knits my eyebrows together. “Are you feeling wild, Mr. McKay?”
He throws me a wink, and I inwardly moan at his handsomeness. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”
“Deal.” I grab the stem of the glass, my fingers gently brushing his. His eyes narrow in suspicion as they land on my book.
“You’re reading Fifty Shades?” He nudges his chin toward the paperback, then turns around to finish dinner.
“You must think it’s silly, but it’s my comfort read.”
“I don’t think it’s silly.” His eyes find mine for a split second as he pulls the lasagna out of the oven. “I think every person who loves to read has a comfort read. One of those books that will always make them happy.” He places the lasagna on the counter, grabs the plates from the island, and puts a square portion on each of them.
“What is your comfort read?”
He purses his lips, giving me a sideways glance.
“It’s not necessarily a comfort read, but my favorite book is Trapped by Kent Brown. I even have a first edition of it.”
“Is that the book that turned into a movie last year?”
He nods. “Have you read it?”
“No, but it was a great movie,” I joke, and he shoots me a dull look.
“How come?”
“How come what?” I ask as I watch how he tops them both off with Parmesan.
“Why do you feel like you need a comfort read?”
With the two plates in his palms, he turns around and takes the two strides to set them on the placemats.
“I don’t know.” I shrug honestly. I’m not sad or anything.
I’m not happy either. The last few days made me realize I’m good at something, good at organizing things. And the good thing is, I also really, really like it. But as soon as we come home every night, I feel like a failure.
Like I blew my one shot at a degree from a top college. I hide it by focusing on Bodi’s company, tormenting him with my hidden flirts until it’s time for bed, but it’s there. My laughter’s overshadowed by a cloud of defeat.
He puts a small bowl of mushrooms between us, then takes the seat beside me on the other side of the counter.
His deep green eyes peer at me with an intensity that creates a defiance inside of me, and I hold his gaze. It’s intense, capable of breaking through walls, but I hold it.
“You know you can talk to me, right?” The features on his face soften, and my heart swells, a crack in my wall forming.
Dammit.
“What? Hold on, so it’s: Bodi McKay, boss, respected co-worker, friend, sex god, and therapist?” I joke.
“Did you say sex god?”
“Of course you hear that!”
“I’m a man. Did you say anything else?” He smirks.
I have my lips pressed together, doing my best to not let them turn up into a wide grin, then offer him a kind look. “Thank you for cooking me dinner.”
“You’re welcome.”
I take a bite of my lasagna, and the hot substance falls on my tongue, slightly burning me. Hissing and huffing, I’m keeping my mouth open to let the hot air out, looking like an idiot, I’m sure. Bodi watches my ridiculous behavior, chuckling when my taste buds register the flavor explosion, and my eyes widen as big as saucers.
“OH, may goawd,” I moan while I slowly try to grind my teeth over the tomato sauce deliciousness.
With my tongue suffering, I swallow my bite with my hand in front of my mouth. There is an aftertaste of cheese, tomato, and herbs I can’t place but make an addictive combination. When the hot food is burning through my gullet, and my mouth becomes empty enough to talk, I give him a shocked look.
“That is some good shit.” I blurt, resulting in a laugh from his belly. It echoes through the room, and I can’t help but smiling at the sound. “I mean it, it’s really good.”
“Better than a burger?” he challenges.
“Well, I’m not sure about that because you haven’t cooked me a burger yet.”
“Fine, tomorrow we’ll eat burgers.”
“Yes!” I throw my fist in the air, a look of triumph written on my face.
“You totally manipulated me there, didn’t you?” He scowls, bringing his fork to his mouth, but I can see the amusement in his eyes.
“Maybe.”
He shakes his head with a ghost of a smile, and we continue our meal in silence. It’s not an awkward silence. If anything, it’s a comfortable one, one that feels good as we enjoy our meal, just spending time together as if we’ve been doing it every day for years. It’s so different from the constant battle I lived at Stanford.
Am I sitting right?
Am I saying the right things?
Am I not embarrassing him?
“Why do you need a comfort read?” He puts his cutlery onto his empty plate, then leans back with his elbow propped up on the surface, his head in his hand.
Fuck.
“I just didn’t know what to read.” I move the last bite of my lasagna over my plate before putting it in my mouth.
“Bullshit. There is a huge bookcase taking up the entire wall of the room you’re staying in. There are classics, romance novels, thrillers, even sci-fi and Harry Potter. But I’m pretty sure I don’t have Fifty Shades of Grey on any of those shelves, which means you brought it with you, so it’s exactly as you said. A comfort read. Your comfort read .”
“Oh, right,” I tease. “I forgot that was your bookcase.”
“Funny.” He pulls a face, but keeps holding my gaze in anticipation. The bastard isn’t going to let this slide, but I really don’t wanna talk about how I feel…unworthy… I guess. This man is the CEO of one of the biggest publishing companies he funded just five years ago. I’m a college drop out. He wouldn’t understand.
“What?” I finally screech.
“Look, I know our relationship is a bit—”
“Passionate?”
“No,” he scolds.
“Sexy?”
“Weird.” He pushes out just to taunt me, making me roll my eyes in response. “But I’m your friend if you need one.” His hand lands on mine and it feels like a lightning bolt moves through my stomach. The hairs on my arm pop up as pebbles appear on the surface. When his gaze intensifies, I know he feels it too, but he just casually clears his throat as he continues, as if he’s unaffected.
“I’m your boss, and we need to keep it professional at work. But while you’re staying with me, I want you to feel comfortable.”
“Thank you. But I am. Really.”
He nods, though disbelief flashes across his face, and he lets go of my hand. Instantly, I’m missing the warmth of his palm on mine, and I pull it back before letting it rest on my leg.
“Dinner was great,” I offer as I pick up the plates and start bringing them to the dishwasher.
He follows behind me with the rest of the stuff on the table, putting the olive oil back in the cabinet next to me. He’s only an inch away and my body feels drawn to his, and without my control, I twist my body a little. Our chests almost touch, and my heart rate speeds up, keeping my eyes trained on his chest until I find the bravery to move them up to his face.
He exhales through his nose and his breath fans my face, my lashes fluttering while I wait for him to make a move.
To move closer.
To put his hands on my body.
To kiss me.
Anything to end this excruciating tension .
I just want to feel his body against mine. I’m desperately craving to know if he’d still feel as good as I remember when we merged as one, even though I already know the answer.
“What are you doing?” His voice is husky, sultry, showing the same desire as I feel burning inside of me.
“What do you mean?” I whisper, innocently.
“Kayla.”
“Nothing.” A smile splits my face, loving the effect I have on him, and I turn around to put the salt and pepper back in the herb rack while he’s still breathing down my neck. “You want to watch a movie or something?”
“Sure,” he mutters behind me. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I glance over my shoulder, watching him hastily trot away toward his bedroom while I inwardly rub my hands together like a diabolical bitch.
Those rules we agreed upon are bullshit, because one thing is fucking clear.
Bodi wants me just as much as I want him.