Page 35 of Forbidden You

He’s all man and I don’t think I will ever be able to look at any other boy my age as something I’m interested in. He already ruined me last summer, making it almost impossible to look at Trent the same when we got back together in the fall, but now that I’ve been spending the last few days with Bodi, I’m officially done for.

Like I used to love grocery store sushi, and now he’s taking me to fucking Japan to taste the real thing and there is no fucking way back. He’s fucking high class sushi and I can’t settle with anything less anymore.

That makes no sense, but weirdly it does in my head.

I should’ve never agreed to the no-flirting rule, because how the hell am I supposed to do that when he looks likethisevery time we get out of work?

He glances over his shoulder as if he feels my presence, shooting me that swoon-worthy smile I was talking about, basically making me want to melt into the floor.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he announces, then turns his focus back to grating the cheese.

On the gray marble of the kitchen island are two plates set, and I slide onto one of the stools. “What are you cooking?”

“Lasagna.”

“You’re cooking me dinner?”

“You don’t cook, and I’m not going to eat any more fast food,” he explains, referring to the Wendy’s takeout we had for dinner last night.

“You have to admit, though, that burger was good, right?” I press my tongue against my teeth as my lips fight to smile.

He waggles his head, yet doesn’t turn around. “It was better than McDonald’s, but I still think my fresh burgers are better.”

“You’re so hard to please.”

“Depends.” Our gazes tangle together, and I can see the double meaning in his lust-filled eyes before he quickly continues what he’s doing.

His arm moves to one of the upper cabinets, taking out two wine glasses, then he pours some red wine from the bottle sitting on the counter into both of them. A strange tingle moves through my organs, watching how he moves around the kitchen with comfort, mesmerizing me with his every move.

When he turns around, our eyes lock and my breath stops for a brief moment as he offers me a glass. For just a few seconds, I’m speechless until he raises his brows in anticipation.

“I’m nineteen.”

“I’m aware.”

A frown knits my eyebrows together. “Are you feeling wild, Mr. McKay?”

He throws me a wink, and I inwardly moan at his handsomeness. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.” I grab the stem of the glass, my fingers gently brushing his. His eyes narrow in suspicion as they land on my book.

“You’re reading Fifty Shades?” He nudges his chin toward the paperback, then turns around to finish dinner.

“You must think it’s silly, but it’s my comfort read.”

“I don’t think it’s silly.” His eyes find mine for a split second as he pulls the lasagna out of the oven. “I think every person who loves to read has a comfort read. One of those books that will always make them happy.” He places the lasagna on the counter, grabs the plates from the island, and puts a square portion on each of them.

“What is your comfort read?”

He purses his lips, giving me a sideways glance.

“It’s not necessarily a comfort read, but my favorite book is Trapped by Kent Brown. I even have a first edition of it.”

“Is that the book that turned into a movie last year?”

He nods. “Have you read it?”

“No, but it was a great movie,” I joke, and he shoots me a dull look.

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