Page 80 of Steamy Ever After

“It does.” He settles the containers on the coffee table and peels back the lids, absolutely oblivious to my envy. “How hungry are you?”

“Why?” I ask, hoping he didn’t just hear my stomach rumble.

He licks some sauce off his thumb and again, I need to remind my stupid eyes to avert their gaze.

“Food.” He looks up at me. “How much do you want?”

“I thought you ordered for yourself.”

His face scrunches and he points to the steaming containers. “How often do I eat Pad Thai? I got this for you.”

An unsettling feeling drops low in my belly and I clear my throat. “You did?”

“Uh-huh.” A lopsided grin transforms his face and dimples his cheeks, and for once, I get what Gaby meant; Joe isn’t a completely horrible guy. “We’ve lived together for months, Janey. You don’t think I know what you like?”

His smile fades, and I know he’s talking about food, but something in his tone hints at another meaning, as do his eyes, which keep drifting to my lips.

Suddenly boiling, I double-check the thermostat to make sure he didn’t crank the heat.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Sometimes I can be very nice.”

He returns to plating food, but again, my dirty mind peeks between the lines, searching for a double-meaning. I can’t stop the heat spreading across my cheeks.

“But don’t get used to it,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Why?”

Confused, he looks up and shrugs a shoulder. “Because I wouldn’t want you expecting me to always be this nice.”

“No, not that.” I shake my head. “I mean, why did you get Pad Thai? For me?”

He settles the container on the table, shoving a fork into the pile of noodles, then hands me a plate. “You really hate me, don’t you?”

“Thanks.” I take the plate; the steam and scents make my mouth water. “And I don’t hate you. That’s extreme.”

He exhales a quick breath and lifts his eyebrow. “You sure act like you do.”

“I know I do.” I shove a forkful of food in my mouth, avoiding the topic, and savor the explosions of sweet and nutty flavors.

“You know, it might come as a surprise, but I am a good guy,” he says, preparing his plate. “And we might not get along, but it’s not always my fault, is it?”

I chew slowly, considering.

“No, it isn’t,” I admit, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. “I think we started on the wrong foot.” I move the noodles around on my plate, searching for a shrimp. “But this was really nice and I appreciate it. I guess I needed it.”

“You did,” he replies, matter-of-factly with a grin, then settles back into the chair, propping his plate against his chest, and digs in.

Ravenous, he barely breathes as he shovels one bite after another into his mouth. Strangely, I’m not grossed out by it. The way his eyes remain glued to the television watching the opening of Pretty in Pink, and the way his jaw clenches with each bite, looks… sexy?

“You know,” he adds, his eyes ahead. “I’m pretty sure our problem isn’t about us hating each other.”

“So, you hate me?”

“Not one bit,” he replies, meeting my gaze.

“What’s our problem, then?” I take a bite, bobbing my head to the music.

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