Page 98 of Fractured Rhythm

Two hours later,after narrowing down what I was going to make for dinner—hey, watching food videos was part of my job—I started reviewing the videos that would get posted over the next few days. Isabel had been working on the perfect oatmeal raisin recipe. It’d taken a lot of taste testing to find the perfect combination.

Such a hardship.

But we’d narrowed it down to two. I’d suggested we post two videos, one with each recipe, and take a viewers’ vote. We posted videos that people zoned out to while they were at work or relaxing at home constantly, but it helped our numbers when there was actual engagement, so I’d suggested we do poll videos like this at least once a week.

We’d been running them for about six months now, and at first, people were responding that looks amazing or I should try to make this. But now, our viewers were getting involved and having a dialogue in the comments section. Roberta loved it and said the higher-ups at Socialbuzz had commented on what a great idea it’d been.

I was proud of myself for pushing for it. As the youngest culinary producer, I knew I was under more scrutiny than some of my colleagues, but I was ready for it. It was something new, and if you couldn’t do something new in the media and tech world, then what were you even doing?

I spent the rest of the day approving next week’s shoots and making sure we didn’t need to reshoot what we’d already done for the week, and hanging out in the studio, taste testing. The second oatmeal raisin cookie was my favorite. There was something about blending light and dark brown sugar and adding a teaspoon of apple pie spice to the flour that gave the cookie the right amount of kick.

I wasn’t normally a huge oatmeal raisin fan, since it was missing a key ingredient—chocolate, but Bash was. Maybe I’d try the recipe out on him this weekend.

Later that night,the doorbell buzzed as I was pulling the bourbon-marinated steak from the fridge. I set the dish on the counter and smoothed down my apron before slowly opening the door and peeking around the edge.

“Whatcha hiding for?” Bash asked, a huge grin on his face.

God, he looked good. He said he needed a haircut, but I hoped that he would skip it. I’d missed his shaggy hair, and it had grown out in the last month. I itched to run my fingers through the silky softness, and tug on it while he kissed me.

“No reason,” I said, opening the door wide.

His face fell. “You have clothes on.”

I laughed. “Did you really think I was going to cook naked?”

“I was hoping,” he said, propelling me away from the door and kicking it shut behind him with his foot.

I would let him discover what I was wearing under my clothes later.

The answer was nothing.

“I missed you,” he said, hoisting me up on the kitchen counter and stepping between my spread thighs.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked, my voice raspy as he leaned in and kissed my pulse point.

“Starving,” he mumbled against my skin.

“I meant for dinner,” I said, and then gasped when he kissed along my collarbone.

“We’ll get to that eventually. I haven’t seen you in ages,” he said, and then he lifted his head. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi.” My fingers sank into his hair. Yes, I hoped he continued to grow it out. So much more to cling to. “I guess dinner can wait,” I said, pushing him away and hopping off the island. I grabbed the dish of marinating steak and put it back in the fridge.

Bash laughed. “What are you doing?”

“Our reunion might take a while. Didn’t want to leave that on the counter in case we took so long that the next time we eat will be breakfast.”

He pulled me back into his arms, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You might be more insatiable than I am.”

“Are you complaining?” I said with a smirk.

“Fuck no,” he said, lifting me back into his arms before striding toward the bedroom.

Dinner could wait.

After two orgasmsand a quick nap, I was ravenous—for food this time—so Bash sat at the kitchen island while I finished cooking and plating our dinner. We couldn’t have any accidents tonight. Steelwolf was playing for a crowd of eight thousand tomorrow night and their lead guitarist needed all of his fingers.

He’d grumbled when I’d reminded him of that. It’d been ridiculously adorable.

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