Page 41 of Go Cook Yourself

“And who the hell calls their child Brine? Were they really into fishing?” she mumbles to herself.

And there goes another brick in my barrier wall. I’m falling hard.

Chapter Twenty-One

Ruby

“How does that taste?” I ask Garett, holding a teaspoon of my freshly made salted caramel and chocolate buttercream to his lips.

His tongue pops out, and the tip touches the frosting as if he doesn’t trust me. I raise one eyebrow and give him the sourest look I have in my arsenal.

His laughter hits my belly like I’ve eaten a batch of buttercream. It’s like I’m filled with yummy goodness and want to bask in the endorphins it gives me.

Shit. I’m falling.

It’s been a week since he stayed with me at the hospital and I slept against him. That doesn’t happen. It took months before I could sleep in Neil’s company, and even then, I always slept better when my bakery shifts meant I was sleeping in the bed without him.

But that doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.

Garett opens his mouth and sucks the spoon clean. It’s not simple endorphins now. My belly lurches with something a lot more sensual, and I imagine those lips on something else.

I shake my head. It’s just the after-break-up horniness that Amber tells me is inevitable. Yet, with the butterflies competingwith the spicy thoughts in my head, I’m struggling to focus on anything but how he licks his lips and rolls them together.

He moans loudly. Oh God. “That tastes so good, Rubes.” The way he shortens my name has heat building between my thighs. It’s all I can do not to close my eyes and groan, but I need to think responsibly, not like a horny drunk woman on a night out.

A gruff Garett is oblivious to the impact his noises are having on me. “You should do something with that in the competition. How do you get it to taste so decadent but not heavy? I could eat that for hours.”

I shrug, but his praise briefly calms my hormones and makes me beam instead. The great Chef Garett loves my frosting.

“Seriously,” he replies, sticking his finger in the bowl. “You should cover lots of things in it. I would lick it off anything.”

He pops his finger in his mouth and sucks it hard. His eyes lock with mine and widen like he’s realised what he said.

“Anything?” I ask.

My voice is breathy. I want to dip my finger in the frosting and get him to lick that, too. How he cared about me at the hospital last week has replayed on a loop all week. Today is the first time we’ve seen each other since, and it’s like our friendship is evolving into something I can’t control.

His tired eyes darken, and he licks his lips slowly. “Anything, Rubes.”

I swallow so loud that I swear it echoes around the kitchen. I should kiss those lips. The heat between my legs increases. I want to taste frosting off other parts of him. I briefly look down, and I’m sure he looks thicker down there. I smelt cinnamon when I slept on him, like his body was infused with it. Is that how his skin tastes?

Fire spikes my skin as I lean in to make my move, even though it’s stupid. This is our workplace. Yet, as he licks his lips again, I tell myself it would be a kiss, and it would stop there.

Suddenly, he reaches into his pocket and steps back.

I stumble as I say, “I was reaching for…” But I can’t think of anything to say to save face. I read the moment wrong. It doesn’t matter, though, because he’s distracted by his phone.

Shame creeps throughout my body, and I want to run, but I’m not a silly teenager, even if I act like one.

I return to the cake and busy myself adding the frosting. Curving the cream around the cake doesn’t take me long, though my hands tremble. As I survey the cake, I plan the drip effect and lay out the delicate pink flowers I’ve created for the top. Garett wanted me to push the boundaries on my frosting. I’d never test my skills like this, but he’s helped me with every step.

I sneak a look at Garett. He’s engrossed in his mobile. His tongue darts out and grazes his lower lip. I miss my best vibrator, which I accidentally left at my old place. I only remembered my little bullet because it was hiding in my washbag, but it won’t do the job especially if I’m going to keep imagining Garett’s tongue trailing a line down my body. He taps a reply on his phone as I fantasise about his fingers between my thighs as his mouth pauses at my breasts and—

I grip the frosting bag tight, and buttercream flies across the table and onto Garett’s arm.

Garett looks down before raising his eyebrow and staring at me. “I know I said I’d lick it off anything, but I didn’t mean my forearm.”

I imagine licking those thick forearms and tasting the deliciousness of his skin mixed with the salted caramel chocolate. I shake my head and swallow slowly before busying myself with the cake—anything to avoid staring at his tongue sweeping across his skin as he cleans himself up.

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