Page 36 of Forbidden You

“How come?”

“How come what?” I ask as I watch how he tops them both off with Parmesan.

“Why do you feel like you need a comfort read?”

With the two plates in his palms, he turns around and takes the two strides to set them on the placemats.

“I don’t know.” I shrug honestly. I’m not sad or anything.

I’m not happy either. The last few days made me realize I’m good at something, good at organizing things. And the good thing is, I also really, really like it. But as soon as we come home every night, I feel like a failure.

Like I blew my one shot at a degree from a top college. I hide it by focusing on Bodi’s company, tormenting him with my hidden flirts until it’s time for bed, but it’s there. My laughter’s overshadowed by a cloud of defeat.

He puts a small bowl of mushrooms between us, then takes the seat beside me on the other side of the counter.

His deep green eyes peer at me with an intensity that creates a defiance inside of me, and I hold his gaze. It’s intense, capable of breaking through walls, but I hold it.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” The features on his face soften, and my heart swells, a crack in my wall forming.

Dammit.

“What? Hold on, so it’s: Bodi McKay, boss, respected co-worker, friend, sex god,andtherapist?” I joke.

“Did you say sex god?”

“Of course you hear that!”

“I’m a man. Did you say anything else?” He smirks.

I have my lips pressed together, doing my best to not let them turn up into a wide grin, then offer him a kind look. “Thank you for cooking me dinner.”

“You’re welcome.”

I take a bite of my lasagna, and the hot substance falls on my tongue, slightly burning me. Hissing and huffing, I’m keeping my mouth open to let the hot air out, looking like an idiot, I’m sure. Bodi watches my ridiculous behavior, chuckling when my taste buds register the flavor explosion, and my eyes widen as big as saucers.

“OH, may goawd,” I moan while I slowly try to grind my teeth over the tomato sauce deliciousness.

With my tongue suffering, I swallow my bite with my hand in front of my mouth. There is an aftertaste of cheese, tomato, and herbs I can’t place but make an addictive combination. When the hot food is burning through my gullet, and my mouth becomes empty enough to talk, I give him a shocked look.

“That is some good shit.” I blurt, resulting in a laugh from his belly. It echoes through the room, and I can’t help but smiling at the sound. “I mean it, it’s really good.”

“Better than a burger?” he challenges.

“Well, I’m not sure about that because you haven’t cooked me a burger yet.”

“Fine, tomorrow we’ll eat burgers.”

“Yes!” I throw my fist in the air, a look of triumph written on my face.

“You totally manipulated me there, didn’t you?” He scowls, bringing his fork to his mouth, but I can see the amusement in his eyes.

“Maybe.”

He shakes his head with a ghost of a smile, and we continue our meal in silence. It’s not an awkward silence. If anything, it’s a comfortable one, one that feels good as we enjoy our meal, just spending time together as if we’ve been doing it every day for years. It’s so different from the constant battle I lived at Stanford.

Am I sitting right?

Am I saying the right things?

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