Page 22 of 4th Degree

So between that and her very obvious don't ask expression, I stand from the couch and walk over toward the gym's tiny kitchen, throwing a different question over my shoulder.

“Do you like chocolate or vanilla?”

There are a few seconds of silence, and I can sense her confusion without looking back at her.

“Umm, chocolate?”

“Correct answer. It's the elite flavor.” I reach for the chocolate protein powder tub, then for the coconut milk in the cabinet. When I plug in the blender, I hear Skylar's voice again.

“Are you making me a protein shake right now?”

I don't respond, at which point her voice becomes panicked—the first time I’ve ever heard it take on that pitch. “You really don't need to do that?—”

I interrupt her protests by turning on the blender, having put all the ingredients in while she was talking.

“I'm serious, I'm not that hungry?—”

Once again, I turn on the blender. When the shake is the consistency I want, I take two cups from the cabinet and pour the mixture into them evenly. By the time I grab two spoons and turn back toward Skylar, she's glaring at me.

I tamp down my grin at the sight of it.

“Do you like blueberries?” I ask instead.

Her expression turns baffled. “Blueberries? What kind of weird concoction are you making?”

“Just trust me. Protein shakes are my specialty. You're not allergic to blueberries, are you?”

“No, I'm not allergic...” she says with narrowing eyes, her curiosity winning out.

Pleased with her answer, I take the frozen blueberries from the freezer and dump a healthy heap into her glass. Dropping a spoon in, I hand one to Skylar, and then I take my spot beside her on the couch. And promptly dig into my own shake.

After a few seconds, I sense Skylar do the same.

“Oh my God,” she moans.

It has me freezing in place, too nervous to look at her and risk seeing an expression that matches that sound.

“What is this?” she asks, hurriedly dipping back into the cup and searching for more blueberries. “This tastes nothing like Muscle Milk. This is like a straight up milkshake.”

I can't help it; my smile breaks free at her excitement.

“You're just hungry from two hours of training.” I chuckle, going back to my own shake.

“No, I'm serious,” she says with wide eyes as she turns toward me. “How is this so good? And who knew frozen blueberries would go so well with a chocolate milkshake?”

I eat a spoonful before I answer. “I feel like I've been eating that for half my life. I forget that people usually have a negative association with protein shakes.”

Skylar snorts. “That’s because they usually taste like wet sand.” And then eagerly digs in for more.

I try to understand the warm feeling in my chest from seeing her eat something that I made her. But it also comes with the knowledge that she was hungry, which immediately cools any pleasure. I can only hope like hell that the only reason she didn't want to go out to eat is because she's frugal enough to limit extra spending.

Even though I know she doesn't want to talk about it, even though it probably crosses the professional boundary I’ve always drawn between myself and my students about their personal lives, I open my mouth to ask.

Except, the words die on my tongue, because when I look over at her again, she's wiggled more comfortably into the couch cushion and pulled her legs up to cradle the cup in her lap. There's a genuine, happy smile on her face as her attention returns to the fights on the screen.

And as I sit back and relax in my own seat, I comfort myself with the knowledge that I made her full and content now.

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