Chapter 5 #2
I look back over my shoulder to call my thanks before following Ezra into my kitchen.
My house is a small single story with a more traditional closed layout.
The kitchen is off from the living room and leads into a breakfast nook and a dining room.
It would bother me if I was usually hosting people, but very few people are ever over here.
Feeling closed off from the other rooms never really gets to me.
The kitchen itself is not very large but has all the modern appliances that keep me going. There’s just enough counter space to cook for one or two and just barely enough room for me to squeeze by Ezra to get to the fridge.
His hand falls to my lower back as our chests brush together and his eyes dance with mischief even as he apologizes and moves out of my way and away from my touch. My heart races and my brain nearly short circuits for a moment before I remember the purpose of coming into the kitchen.
I swear, these men are as bad for my health as they are my pride.
It takes not nearly long enough and yet entirely too long to grab the sodas and pour a glass of lemonade to hand to Ezra.
The whole time, I desperately wrack my brain for something to say.
Anything to try and make the most of this stolen moment with Ezra.
A man I’ve been crushing on for years. The more I try to come up with something, the louder the silence grows between us.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his lemonade and humming near silently. “Did you make this yourself?”
I nod, cracking open my soda and taking a sip. “It’s my grandma’s recipe.” A warmth breaks through my nerves as I think about the old lady. He takes another sip and his tongue traces his lips, drawing my attention to how full they are.
“It’s delicious,” he says, those lips curling up on just one side.
Flutters spread from low in my stomach all the way to my chest. I’ve never met anyone as sweet and kind as Ezra.
“Thanks,” I respond. “It’s honey.” He arches a brow in question and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to keep my answer short.
“The secret ingredient.” Most lemonade recipes are pretty simple.
Not much to figure out, but adding honey changes the sweetness.
Shaking my head, I squeeze past Ezra once more and head back into the living room.
Summer raises a brow in question but there’s nothing to tell.
Though it doesn’t quite feel like that either.
It feels like there was a moment, where our eyes locked and our chests brushed and Ezra’s hand rested on my lower back where it felt like there was something alive and burning between us.
Something that was only a breath away from igniting, something that would consume us both.
Something that certainly would guarantee my complete destruction.
A fate I’m tempted to beg for every time his dark gaze flicks in my direction.
“Have you guys been here before?” Summer suddenly asks, breaking me out of my thoughts. “You seem to know your way around the place.”
I snort, waving her off. “It’s not like there’s a lot to figure out.” My house is pretty much a shoebox. A nice shoebox—my father wouldn’t allow anything less even if he’s never been here—but a shoebox nonetheless.
Looking around the living room I realize it’s only the three of us. “Did Weston go to help Jude?”
Summer only shrugs, kicking her feet up on my coffee table. “Maybe? He didn’t say.”
“He probably just went to grab something from the truck,” Ezra explains. “Let me go check on them.”
As soon as he leaves the room Summer smacks me in the arm. “Why the hell are you being so weird?”
I groan, “I don’t know.” This whole thing feels so awkward.
Like it shouldn’t be and I’ve been mostly normal minus when they first got here, but I can’t seem to stop making it awkward.
Each moment stretches out, ballooning into something so much bigger than it needs to be until I’m ready to pop with the tension.
“It’s all in your head, girl,” Summer soothes. “You just have to relax.”
Easier said than done. No one in the history of ever has relaxed after being told they just need to relax. It should actually be outlawed to even say those dreaded words.
“Forget I said that,” she adds, immediately reading the look on my face. “Okay let’s see, what could we do?”
“The homework you said you were coming over to do?” I offer drolly.
“Terrible idea,” she instantly refutes, making me giggle. She never had any intention of being productive tonight once hot men were involved.
“Get drunk!” She claps as if it’s the best idea she’s ever had. It just might be, and yet it’s an awful one.
I’m already shaking my head. Alcohol is the very last thing my motor mouth needs. “Drunk Berlyn makes everything worse. All of the time.”
Summer grins. “I find her endearing.” Her eyes dance with her amusement. “Charming even. Very affectionate,” she adds, dissolving into laughter.
Ugh, I don’t even want to picture what would happen if I drank around these guys. I basically turn into a desperate kitten, begging for attention and pets. Talk about embarrassing.
“Drunk Berlyn belongs behind bars in a deep underground dungeon.”
Her laughter grows louder and sharper, into more of a cackle. When she finally calms herself down, wiping tears from her eyes, she sighs. “I really do love when you drink. We should do it more.”
“You’ll probably be able to convince me tonight after however I further embarrass myself with them,” I mutter.
“What if you buy them dinner?” Summer suggests. “As like a thank you. Maybe that’ll help you chill out and take the pressure off.”
I mull it over. It’s a good idea, but will it really take the pressure off?