Page 92 of Forbidden You

“I can’t believe you actually made mac & cheese” I turn around, and he’s rubbing his neck with a surprised look written on his face. “When you said you were going to fix us dinner, I thought you were going to walk to the diner on the corner for some takeout?”

“Now, don’t get too excited.” I put up my hands, placating in case my next words disappoint him. “It’s nothing special, and definitely not healthy, because, well, I can’t really cook.” I shrug. “But you’ve been cooking for me a lot and I wanted to return the favor.”

A grin splits his face, his eyes glittering. “You’ve been doing me lots of favors.”

Rapidly, I throw the dishcloth sitting on the counter at his head, and he catches it while chuckles fall from his lips. “Shut up, jackass.”

I twist back to the counter, dividing the mac and cheese over the two plates with a nervous feeling sitting inside of me. When I walked to the store thirty minutes ago, I knew I wanted to cook for him, but I also knew I couldn’t cook for shit. But my confidence decided he was just going to eat whatever I put in front of his face.

Now that it’s done, though? I don’t feel so confident anymore.

I hear his footsteps approaching me and his arms wrap around my waist as he presses his chest against my back, glancing over my shoulder.

“It looks good, babe.” He pushes my hair to the side, giving him free access to plaster a trail of kisses down my neck.

“You’re lying, aren’t you?” I ask, insecurely. Embarrassment showers my skin. Fuck. This was stupid. Of course, he doesn’t like mac and cheese.

“No. Who doesn’t love mac and cheese?”

“I’m guessingyou.”

“It’s a valid assumption, but I happen to love mac and cheese.” He spins me in his arms, cupping my chin so I’m forced to look up at him.

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiles. “When I was eight,” he says playfully. “But still.”

“Asshole.” I swat his chest before his gaze turns serious, peering down at me like it’s really important what is about to come next.

“I don’t care if it tastes like dog shit.” His nose brushes against mine. “I love the fact that you wanted to cook for me.” He gives me a gentle kiss. “Thank you.”

Letting go of me, he takes the plates from the counter before walking them back to the breakfast bar. He sets them down on the placemats, then fills both glasses with water from the pitcher I put there when I was setting the table.

A little stunned at his reply, I’m still standing there, watching his every move. He walks through the room with a cocky level of self-confidence that turns me on every minute of the day, but at the same time, he has this pure glow lighting him up, showing the sincerity of everything that he does.

It brings out a feeling inside of me that I’m so desperately trying to ignore. He has some kind of stupid no dating rule, and when we first had that talk, I saw it as a challenge. I never expected to form real feelings for Bodi, because as much as I taunt him about it, tempting him to cross every line he sets, I also have a little voice in my head that’s telling me he’s right about all his hesitations.

But I want him.

I crave him every single minute, and I don’t see that ending in the foreseeable future. Soon, I’ll find my own apartment, and all this homey stuff we’ve been creating will be gone. He’s my friend who I sleep with. But the last few days, stupid questions keep flying through my head.

Questions like... What if I don’t leave? What if it’s not just sex? What if I want him to be something more?

Questions I need to continue ignoring, pushing them away as much as I can, simply because I already know the answer if I were to ask Bodi. He will throw every excuse he has into my face, no matter what counter response I might have.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe the age difference is too big. Maybe we really do want different things in life. But for every maybe, there is a loud as fuckwhat if?

“Are you coming?” He twists his head to me with a lopsided grin, totally aware of me gawking at him.

I suck in a breath to help me push away my confusion, even though we all know it’s useless. With a smile that doesn’t seem to leave my face, I take the seat beside him while I wait for him to take the first bite in anticipation.

He lifts his fork to his mouth, closing his eyes, as if he’s gracing his taste buds with a gourmet meal, and he needs to savor the moment.

“And you say I’m dramatic?” I roll my eyes.

“You are,” he counters, swallowing his food.

“So are you!”

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