Page 22 of Before We Were Us

“You don’t have to leave at all.”

“I do,” she corrects me. “I’m already envious of you for snagging Mr. Handcuffs, that man is dangerously hot. I don’t think I can take it if I have to watch him drool over you or worse, hear the echo of the sounds he might inflict coming from you when things get wild. Or what he sounds like when he’s,” she pauses and bites her lip. “Okay I have to go, like now.”

I laugh as she grabs her bag and hurries to the door. Grabbing the handle she yanks open the door and there stands Jensen with his hand extended out like he was just about to knock.

He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a tight Henley stretched out over his toned chest and arms. I thought he looked good in a suit jacket, but this, wow.

“Wow,” Taylor says, taking the word right out of my mouth as she looks back over her shoulder at me. “Girl,” she adds with a groan. “That is so unfair.” She pouts and her shoulders slightly sag before shaking her head and slipping out the door past him. I don’t miss the way she looks him over from behind and bites her lip as she walks backwards a few steps taking him all in. Suddenly Taylor is then spinning around and walking away.

“Do I even want to know what that was about?” Jensen steps inside and closes the door to my apartment behind him.

“Probably not.” I offer a smile. She isn’t wrong though, he does look good. Real good!

Seeing him in jeans and without the normal blazer or sports jacket is a welcome sight. Not that the look isn’t very impressive, but this one is relaxed and very appealing.

“Smells amazing.” Jensen starts walking toward me where I stand on the opposite side of the kitchen island that separates the living space. Normally I’m so calm and collected. I’ve been programmed from birth to hold my own in a room full of men. I’ve been taught that I am strong, and no man shall ever make me feel like I can’t stand on my own two feet.

Though Jensen doesn’t make me feel weak in any sense, he does make my knees wobble a bit.

I turn, picking up the spoon and start to stir the sauce, needing a distraction when the warmth of his body presses to my back.

“I can say I never imagined you as a cook. I figured takeout maybe.” His heated breath blows against the back of my neck and I momentarily close my eyes and do my best to maintain my cool.

“I can cook,” I confess, calmly. “I just don’t have time to do it often.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had a good home-cooked meal.” I turn slightly looking back over my shoulder at him. Our eyes lock and the corner of his mouth tips up. “I’m on a first name basis with about ninety percent of the restaurants near my building.”

Without warning Jensen lifts his hand and toys with a tendril of hair that has fallen free from my hair clip. Twisting it around his finger, he gently tugs on the end. My pulse quickens.

“Do you need any help?” When he asks this he holds my stare. Before I can respond he leans in, dipping his chin and lightly kisses my lips. A loud clanking noise echoes over the kitchen and my body jerks in surprise.

The spatula I was using lays on the floor at my feet and a trail of bright red sauce covers not only my white tile, but my entire side as well.

I feel my cheeks heat and glance back up to find Jensen smiling knowingly.

“Since you find the humor in this, I’ll let you clean that up.” I step around the mess. “I need to change.”

“I think I’d rather help you do that.”

Rolling my eyes I shake my head and walk away. But the entire path to my bedroom I can’t manage to wipe the smile from my face.

In such a short time this man has somehow managed to make me a blubbering fool that can’t seem to hold myself together in his presence. I just need a few minutes to pull myself together.

We are just finishing up dinner when Jensen’s phone rings. I notice the disappointment in his eyes when he lifts his gaze to meet mine. With his phone to his ear, he listens, his jaw ticking in irritation I presume.

“Are you on your way there?” he asks, still holding my stare. “I’m close,” he adds, “probably ten minutes out.”

His nostrils flare and I feel my own round of disappointment knowing our evening has most likely come to an end.

“Yeah,” he adds before abruptly ending the call.

Leaning back in his chair, he taps the corner of his phone on the table and exhales slowly.

“Work?” I ask, already knowing the answer to my question.

He nods. “And I feel like a complete asshole for being pissed that it's interrupting our night. Considering I’m homicide and some poor person has lost their life, yet I’m pissed that our night is cut short.”

“Then how about you let me be the one pissed.” The corner of his mouth tips up in a smile. “Go, do what you need to do. We can have dinner any night.”

---