Page 54 of Four Times Taken

"Yeah, sure," he lied as I tapped the back of my hand against his shoulder, walking away.

"It's not soup." I chuckled. "At least, not for us." I looked through the fridge, catching myself searching for something he might enjoy, and I straightened up. If there was one thing I didn't do, it was cater to a man.

But why not? He catered to me. Before I could enter into a debate with myself, he surprised me by coming up behind me.

Peeking over my bent back, into the fridge, he said, "So, what are we cooking?"

I came up so fast at the question, I hit my head on the top part of the opened fridge. Biting back a howl, I pulled my head out of the ice box. "We?" I asked, my head spinning.

"Yes. We." He washed his hands at the sink before drying them. I rubbed my head subconsciously, and he frowned. "You okay?"

Fixing my mouth to lie, laughter bubbled out of me. He looked at me, mouth open and taken aback, which made me laugh even harder. "I just hit the hell out of my head on that fridge. I think I saw the light."

"Aw, babe!" He grinned, pulling me close. "I thought I heard a thump. Where does it hurt?"

Falling into his warmth, I inhaled his scent. Yeah, he stank. He hadn't been able to take a shower yet. But I liked it. Musky. Sweaty. Eric. As he kissed the top of my head, I sighed, tilting it back and catching his lips with mine. He groaned, and I threw my arms around his neck, moaning.

"No," he grunted when I pressed my body into him, and his hands drifted toward my ass. Pressing his finger against my lips, he laughed when I kissed it too. "We're supposed to be cooking."

"It'll only take a minute," I teased.

"You know I ain't taking no damn minute." He tapped my ass, gripping it a little so a gasp left my lips.

"Okay," I purred. "Maybe only ten minutes then." My hands found their way underneath his shirt as I kissed his neck.

He shuddered. "Lily. Your mom's right there," he said, biting down on my earlobe.

"You're right. We should take it to the bedroom," I panted.

"Am I just your sex machine?" he asked, trapping me in by his arms and pressing my back into the small counter space.

"Are you complaining?" I moaned.

He laughed and shook his head. "You are something else, you know that?" He kissed my lips before pulling away. "But I'm starving. Let's get to cooking."

I balked at him as he walked toward the fridge. My body was on fire, and all he could think about was cooking? He felt my eyes on him and without looking at me, he grinned.

"Hm. Chicken looks good." He pulled out a foam tray of chicken parts wrapped in plastic and walked past me, only turning once to wink.

Groaning, I found myself pushing out my lip in an attempt to pout like those cutesy girls who pout at their men and bat their eyelashes like morons. Now, I'm the moron. Ah hell.

"You're such a tease," I muttered, joining him.

We worked seamlessly together and if I'm being honest, we're having fun. Both our phones were taking turns pumping out tunes, some of which included songs I used to listen to in high school. I hadn't heard those in forever, and he laughed over hearing the music pounding from my plastic headphones with sponge ear protectors and the CD player tucked away in my leather backpack.

"That was fake leather," I corrected him. "Oh. It peeled so badly after a while."

"Yeah, it was like your bag had dandruff flaking everywhere it went." He chuckled.

"Thanks for being my best friend and telling me." I bumped him with my ass.

"Like telling you would've made any difference," he guffawed while seasoning the chicken.

"You're right. You're right. I probably would've found a way to make it flake some more," I agreed, singing along to my old tunes, remembering every lyric. I snuck in a few of the rap songs he used to go hard for in his car, and he groaned. Still, he fell into the beat and lyrics just the same, and I laughed at us.

"Look at us. We're like old married couples, reminiscing on the good old days," I tittered.

"Aw, don't say that. We're not there yet. We're still young and swaggy," he attempted.

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