Chapter 23 You’re Going to Need More Butter
TANNER
At nine, I pull into my parking spot, and I’m surprised to see lights coming from the apartment. Sliding out of the car, I notice I feel a little lighter, and for the first time since I agreed to be CEO, I don’t feel entirely miserable about the idea.
“Wren?” I call, walking through the door. Dolly jumps off the couch to greet me, and some One Direction song is blaring. “Wren? You still up?”
A loud bang comes from the kitchen, and I walk towards the sound, fully expecting to catch her trying to cook again, but instead I’m met with a huge mess and my very disheveled, but adorable, looking roommate. Every inch of the kitchen counters are covered with the entire contents of our pantry.
She’s holding a can of corn wearing tiny shorts that show off her toned legs and an oversized T-shirt. Her hair is pulled up into a bun on the top of her head, but it’s messier than usual—little bits of her hair sticking out in every direction.
Even like this, she’s absolutely stunning.
She sets the can on one of the shelves, mumbles something under her breath, and then pulls it back out and studies it.
I lower the music and clear my throat. Her eyes shift in my direction.
“You okay?” I chuckle.
“Oh, um, yeah. Why?”
“Whatcha doing?”
“Well, I was bored, and so I started organizing the pantry, and at first I thought I should do it alphabetically, but then I thought maybe color-coded made more sense, but now I’m wondering if it should be by category. What do you think?”
“I think you need to step away from the canned goods,” I say, walking towards her and grabbing the corn.
Our hands brush against each other, causing her eyes to shift upward and her mouth to part slightly.
There’s a weird moment where the air almost cracks around us, and then she takes a step back, giggling nervously.
“You sure you’re okay?” I ask, setting the can down on a pantry shelf.
“Oh, yeah. Definitely good. Cool as a cucumber. Why?”
“Because you appear to be stress-organizing the pantry.” My eyes survey the kitchen counters again, and I stop a laugh from breaking free.
“Oh, no. I guess the change of plans just kinda threw me, and I wasn’t sure what to do, so I decided to be productive.”
“The change of plans threw you?” I lean against the counter top, crossing my arms.
“Well, no, that's not what I meant. I just meant that I wasn’t sure what to do since our plans changed.”
“I didn’t know roomie nights meant that much to you.” I smirk.
“They don’t…I mean, they’re fun, but I’m not stressed about it or anything. I was just bored.”
“If you say so.” I lift one of my eyebrows, and her brow furrows. “Did you have a good day?”
“It was fine,” she says, moving past me and back into the living room. I follow her and watch as she walks across the room and picks a paperback book off the ground.
“How’d that end up over there?” I ask.
“Oh, um, Dolly must’ve carried it in here.”
“Did Dolly become a large dog while I was at dinner?” I chuckle, leaning up against the wall.
Her cheeks blush, and my heart jumps in my chest at the thought that maybe roomie nights do mean more to her than I thought they did.
She sits down on the couch and opens the book. Wrinkles form across her forehead, and she scrunches her nose.
Man, she’s cute when she’s flustered.
After a minute, she puts the book down and looks over at me.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“No reason. So, what else did you do tonight?”
Her eyes shift to her open bedroom door and then back to me.
“Just read, watched a little TV, and then tried to organize the pantry.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes,” she says, panicked. “Why would you think I did anything else?”
“Chill,” I say. “You didn’t mention dinner. Did you eat?”
“Oh, yeah. I had some chips and salsa.”
“That’s not dinner.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t trust myself with the stove.”
“Get up,” I say.
“What?”
“Get up. We’re going to make you dinner.”
She stands hesitantly then walks toward me. “We are?”
“Yes, I’m going to teach you how to make yourself dinner because chips and salsa are not a meal.”
I turn and walk back into the kitchen to start clearing a small space on the counter, so we have a place to work.
“I can do that,” she says, following after me.
“We can organize the pantry later. Now, we are going to make you a grilled cheese.”
“Grilled cheese? Is that supposed to be more nourishing than chips and salsa?”
“Anything would be more nourishing than chips and salsa.”
“Not true. Salsa is essentially fruits and vegetables.”
“True, but grilled cheese is delicious. Have you ever made one?”
She shakes her head, and her cheeks turn pink.
“Okay, grab some bread, butter, and cheese. The more types of cheese the better,” I say, taking out a pan from one of the cabinets, setting it on the stove-top, and turning the burner on.
She collects the items and sets them down on the counter.
I smile when I see she pulled out cheddar, gouda, and pepper jack.
“What’s the first step?” she asks.
“Take out a slice of bread and then put butter on one side.”
She follows my instructions, spreading a thin layer of butter over one slice.
I chuckle.
“What?” She smiles.
“You’re going to need more butter.”
“More?”
I nod. She adds more to the slice, smoothing it over the surface. “Good, now place it butter-side down on the pan, and be careful because the burner is on.”
She does, and the butter sizzles against the hot surface. I continue walking her through the steps until the entire sandwich is constructed and it’s ready to flip.
“Okay, this is the fun part. Pick up the pan, flick your wrist, and flip the sandwich over to the other side.”
“Ha!” she laughs. “You really think I can flip a sandwich in a pan? I’m the world’s worst cook.”
“What if I help you?”
“What do you mean help—” I move behind her, and she holds her breath.
Taking one of her hands, I lead it to the handle of the pan, and we both grab on.
She peers over her shoulder, her cherry and vanilla scent filling my senses, and I do my best to play it cool, but on the inside my heart rails against my ribcage.
“We’re going to pick up the pan and flick our wrists upward. If we do it right, the sandwich will flip and land on the other side in the pan.” I’m trying to keep my breaths steady, and even though I’ve done this a dozen times, I really hope I don’t mess it up and ruin her dinner. “You ready?”
She nods, and we pop the pan upward, flipping the sandwich perfectly.
“Oh, my god! We did it,” she squeals.
We set the pan down, and she twirls to face me. There are mere inches between us, and I don’t know what I’m doing. She’s too good for me, and so, despite the urge to close the space between us, I take a step backward.
“Told you we make a good team,” I say, running my hand through my hair and clearing my throat. “So anyway, you let that go for a minute or two, and then it’ll be ready to eat.”
She nods and turns back around to watch it cook. I move to the kitchen table, trying to shake the feeling that being so close to her left me with.
Pull it together.
“So, how was dinner?” she asks, plating the sandwich.
“Surprisingly, it went well,” I explain. “I finally met with my dad today, and he actually liked my new proposal for the Cedar Hill project. He said it had promise, which I never thought I hear him say, and he wanted to go to dinner to talk more about the CEO role.”
“That’s good.” She takes a seat across from me.
“It’s really good. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do after he bailed last Wednesday, but I think I’m doing the right thing and that he is starting to see that I can be the CEO.” I can feel myself smiling as I talk.
“That’s amazing. I knew he’d like it.”
“I honestly can’t believe it. Never in thirty years has he become remotely close to saying he was proud of me, and he said it showed a lot of promise. Which feels kind of like he was proud of me, right?”
“I think so.” She blows on the sandwich, and my eyes lock on her lips. My cock twitches below my pants, and I shift in my seat.
She tries a bite, and a smile erupts across her face. “Wow, this is so good.”
“Told you. The secret is multiple types of cheese and extra butter.”
“Thank you for teaching me how to make it.”
“Any time.”
She starts to say something but stops herself and takes another bite of her food instead.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I was just thinking about your dad and the dinner.” She pauses. “Are you really sure you want to be CEO? Like I know you’re feeling good about it after today, but is it going to make you happy?”
“Yeah, I think so. I’ve waited so long for him to be proud of me, and the fact that I finally did it feels really good. I know my granddad would’ve wanted this, so it feels like the right move.”
“I know. I just can’t shake the feeling that you’d be really good at the bar. I’d hate to see you give something like that up.”
The Local flickers in the back of my mind, and for a split second I wonder if she’s right, if I’d be happier there, but then I push it away.
“How was work?”
“What?” she asks, quirking her head to the side. “Come on. We’re not talking about my work. We’re talking about you.”
“I don’t want to talk about me. I’d rather hear about your day.”
She exhales. “It was fine, I guess. No one really showed up to my art group, which sucked, but chair yoga had a big crowd, and I had lunch with the girls.”
“That’s cool y’all are all so close and work together.”
“Yeah, sometimes I think they’re the only reason I’m still there.”
Thoughts about funding her camp idea circle my brain, and I have to stop myself from saying anything. No way she’d ever let me help her.
“You know, you could work with people you’re close with if you bought the bar,” she says.
“Wren…” I pause. “Maybe you’re right, but I think today was a turning point, and the CEO gig is the better option.”
“If you say so,” she says.
I’m surprised when she doesn’t say more, and despite the meeting with my dad and the dinner, I’m still not one hundred percent sure I’m making the right choice. What I do know is I’m more sure than I was yesterday, and that has to mean something.
She finishes the rest of her sandwich, and when she’s done, she walks her plate to the sink. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” she says.
“Okay. Yeah, I’m pretty tired too.”
I walk her to her door, and we both pause outside her bedroom. “Thanks again for the cooking lesson,” she says. Dolly runs between us and jumps on the bed. My eyes follow the cat and land on Wren’s vibrator laying on the mattress.
So, is that what she did while I was gone?
She must see it too, because she quickly moves into her room, sits on the bed, and throws the blanket over it. Blush covers her face, and she clears her throat. “Okay, well…night.”
I hold back a laugh and have to force myself to look away from where I know the toy is sitting. “Night, Wren,” I say, turning and moving to my room. I can’t help but wonder who she thought about when she made herself come, and how I would give anything in the world to see her fall apart like that.
I run my hand down my face, shutting my door behind me.
While my head seems to know I can’t have her, it appears my dick still hasn’t gotten the memo.
Looking down, I adjust my erection, and then I do what I know I shouldn’t. I move into my bathroom and turn on the shower.
Undressing and stepping inside, the warm water runs over me as I stroke myself to thoughts of my roommate making herself come. The vision is hot as shit, and in no time my cum paints the tile wall in front of me as I find my release and breathe out her name.