Chapter 9 Piper #2
He plates the food—some kind of chicken dish with roasted vegetables that I’m definitely not eating—then cuts thick slices of the still-warm bread.
I take a bite of the bread first and swallow back a moan.
After making a fool of myself over his focaccia, I’m committed to keeping it together, but it’s tough with so much deliciousness exploding on my tongue.
“I seriously hate you,” I say around a mouthful, “for ruining store-bought bread for me forever.”
He shrugs like this is also no biggie as he slides into the chair next to me, but I catch the pleased expression that flashes across his face. “It’s just bread.”
“It’s not just bread. It’s carb art.”
He grins. “No one has ever called me an artist. Well, other than analysts talking about my signature creative style in running routes.”
“Bake them some sourdough.” I pop another morsel into my mouth with a sigh. “You’re more than football, Felix.”
I know the simple compliment shocks him, because he’s just taken a bite and starts coughing like crazy.
“You okay?” I thump on his back as he downs his water in one gulp then gets up and heads to the sink for a refill. Felix has had me discombobulated for days, so it’s more than a little bit gratifying to return the favor.
“’M fine,” he mutters after taking another long drink. “Chicken went down the wrong pipe.”
“It happens.”
He swipes under each watering eye with his sleeve. “For the record, I don’t need to be more than football. Football made me what I am, and I’m fucking grateful for it. It’s all I need.”
“Okay,” I answer, even though we both know he’s lying.
“You want wine?” he asks suddenly, grabbing a bottle he must have brought up from the small cellar in the basement. “I meant to uncork it earlier. I can pour you—”
“I can’t—” I catch myself, clearing my throat. “I mean, I shouldn’t. Since you’re not drinking because of training, I’m not going to either.”
He sets the bottle down, a small smile playing around his lips. “You’re a solidarity gal, Hart?”
“Something like that.”
“Ronnie used to love my dry spells,” he says, slicing more bread and pushing the cutting board toward me. “It meant she had a designated driver.”
My eyes roll to the ceiling. “Your ex was a real treat.”
“We have that in common.”
His eyes meet mine, and his gaze goes dark. There’s a lot we haven’t said about Bradley and Veronica. About choices and mistakes and the invisible scars we carry from all of it.
“Tell me more about your secret bread obsession,” I say as I study the piece in my hand. “Are you in a baking club?”
He lets out a long exhale and then takes a seat next to me again. “No sourdough clubhouse,” he says as he polishes off the last of his dinner and shakes his head when I push my plate toward him. “Eat your veggies.”
“Carb loading is way more fun.” I nudge my knee against his. “Besides, I see you eyeing my food. Don’t act like you don’t want it.”
His low laugh sends shivers skating up my spine. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Back to the bread.” Oh, crap. Why does my voice suddenly sound husky?
“I get a lot of tips from the forums.”
I blink and try to force myself back to the conversation for real. “Felix Barlowe hangs out in sourdough forums?”
“I don’t go by Receiver Paws Felix or anything,” he says like, duh.
“Color me fermentation bubble intrigued.” I point my last bite at him. “What do you go by?”
He leans closer. “You planning to online stalk me?”
“I don’t need to go online,” I answer. “I can stalk you in real life.”
“Kind of creepy,” he murmurs, but his eyes are dancing.
My heart does that annoying topsy-turvy thing again. If I were a puppy, this would be the point where I’d flop on my back and offer up my belly. “Spill it, Felix. You know you want to.”
He grunts—or maybe it’s supposed to be a scoff—and after finishing off my veggies in two bites, takes both of our clean plates to the sink.
I collect the water glasses and follow him over, resigned to the fact that he’s not going to spill a thing.
Why does it even matter? His bread forum username is none of my business, and I’m clearly not the person he would share it with.
I don’t want to be that person for Felix, I remind myself.
Who’s lying now?
“Filsbury Dough Boy.”
The words are spoken so softly I almost miss them. “Come again.”
“That’s my handle. Filsbury Dough Boy. No one is going to trace it back to me. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.” He finishes rinsing the plates and silverware, bends down to put it all in the dishwasher, then straightens and reaches for the glasses. “Then I’ll kill you.”
“It’s fucking brilliant,” I whisper, and I mean it. It’s original and fun and unexpected—just like Felix. Almost as unexpected as how much I like being with him.
“For the record, I didn’t go out tonight,” he says quietly, “because I wanted to be here with you, Piper. Just the two of us.” He glances over to the monitor sitting on the island. “Well, the three of us, but you know what I mean.”
I know exactly what he means, and my heart is suddenly hammering against my ribs. “That’s…Felix…you know we can’t…”
“I know all the reasons we shouldn’t.” He steps close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. “I know you’re my brother’s sister-in-law and we don’t even like each other most of the time. I know this whole situation is temporary and complicated.”
He has no idea how complicated, but I don’t step away. “So why are you standing so close to me?”
“Because Tyler was right.” That massive chest rises and falls with an unsteady breath.
“I am wound too tight. But it’s not because I need to let off steam in a bar.
” His hand comes up to cup my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone.
“It’s because I can’t stop thinking about you and me.
How wrong and right it feels at the exact same time. ”
I should leave now. Retreat upstairs and stay in my room until tomorrow, when the morning light can burn off this irresistible connection holding us both in its sway.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lean into his touch and whisper, “I’m a sucker for bad ideas.”