Page 38 of Lunar Crest University

His eyebrows knit in confusion as he rushes around the marble island toward me, relaxing as his eyes fall on the water running in the pan—sauce separating and cascading down the drain in clumps. His chest heaves as he sighs, glancing down at me.

“I was making my mom’s sauce recipe.” I shrug, scratching my neck. “But I burnt it.”

“You burnt pasta sauce.”

A weak laugh escapes my lips at how humiliating it sounds coming from his. Grimacing slightly, I turn off the water before I walk toward the island in the center of the kitchen and fidget with the edge of the countertop.

“I’ve never been the best cook.”

“And you thought you’d try tonight?” his voice sounds behind me, and I swear, I can hear the smile in his words.

“Please,” I groan, rolling my eyes teasingly as I twist around to face him. “I didn’t attempt to cook for you, if that’s what you’re thinki?—”

“Right.”

“Ididn’t.”

He holds his hands up defensively. “Okay,Princesa. I believe you.”

I’ll never get tired of hearing the pet name he’s given me. Every time the word leaves his lips, it makes my heart thump erratically inside of my chest—especially when his brown eyes are peering down at me the way they are right now, inquisitivelyand in awe all at the same time. I wish I could hear what he’s thinking when he looks at me like that. I wonder if they mirror my own thoughts, or if I’ve completely lost my mind. As he gazes down at my lips for a fraction of a second, I think it may be the latter. How can he look at me like he’s studying every inch of me if he doesn’t want me?

“But I hope you didn’t show up hungry.” I sigh softly, wincing as I glance back over at the pan in the sink. “Because my only other dinner options involve bread and peanut butter.”

Luca drops his head slightly, looking down at me through dark lashes as he steps closer. His eyes dart smoothly across my face, settling a little longer on my lips than the rest of my features before he clears his throat.

“No jelly?”

I shake my head.

I don’t know what I expect his reaction to be, but it isn’t to reach up tentatively to rub the space between my brows with his fingertip. He slowly massages the spot as his eyes hold mine, making the frown I hadn’t even realized had formed disappear. My breath dwindles to a silent gasp for air at the action, and my heart thumps madly against my chest as my lips part in awe.

“Only psychopaths eat peanut butter without jelly.”

A breathless laugh bursts through my mouth, and I swear, I see his lip twitch as he drops his hand back to his side.

“I hate jelly.” My nose scrunches as I smile, dropping my gaze down to my intertwined fingers.

My cheeks are ablaze, and I can’t tell if it’s from how he’s studying me or because I seriously ruined a perfectly simple pasta dish in front of this man. The more I think about how embarrassing it is that I just offered him peanut butter sandwiches for dinner, the more my face twists into a humiliated grimace.

“I’ll order us a pizza.”

My head snaps up at his words. “What? No?—”

“I wasn’t asking,” he says, nodding toward the couch.

I quickly clamp my mouth shut so I’m not standing there gaping at him as he whisks his phone from his pocket. My feet are planted to the floor as I watch the way he drags his tongue along his bottom lip, bringing the phone to his ear as his eyes flicker up to meet mine.

“Any preferences?”

“No pineapple.”

“Loca,” Luca mutters.

His tone of voice is teasing, and it makes my cheeks ache from fighting the smile that threatens to imprint on my lips forever. I nibble at them as he orders our pizza, his large hand clutching the phone as he paces back and forth. In the glow of the lamp that burns bright next to my couch, I can see his jaw flexing as he speaks, which only leads me to the flash of collarbone that hides underneath the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. I want to guide my hands underneath and feel the ripple of muscles beneath my fingertips. It’s almost painful how handsome he is.

Tearing my gaze away, I walk toward the couch and plop down before I blow a blood vessel in my brain from gawking too hard.

He’s here to help me with my paper. That’s it. That’s what we talked about…when I was begging him to come over. It really is bad enough that we’ve slipped up once—this isn’t smart. I could get kicked from class, or worse—he could lose his job. My people-pleasing conscience wouldnotbe able to handle it if I was the reason he got fired from teaching.

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