Page 16 of Things We Burn

For the first time in my adult life, I wanted to change myself for a man. A man I just met.

I shook that feeling off, taking a sip of my beer before putting it down. “I don’t drink often,” I continued, my voice notably cooler. “I don’t enjoy it. Being drunk.”

To my surprise, Kane nodded, sipping his own beer. “Yeah, it’s more fun to do crazy shit sober. Doing anything with a buzz just kind of … cheapens it. For me anyway.” He shrugged. “Each to their own, though. I’m not saying I haven’t gotten fucked-up. I have. Plenty. But in my old age, I enjoy making decisions based on needs, not on a chemical reaction to booze. And it would’vebeen a fucking tragedy if I hadn’t been sober for the last two hours.”

I crossed my legs, needing friction as all of my hastily-gathered cool melted.

“I don’t know about wine pairings, but I’m thinking beer and pasta go pretty well with mind-blowing sex.” His voice was thick with mischief and lust.

There was nothing I could say, so I just nodded my head and watched him cook.

He didn’t press the conversation further.

It was nice, lapsing into comfortable silence, no need to force conversation.

I didn’t remember a time in my life when I felt more relaxed.

Though my instincts told me to get up, to clean up after Kane, to take over, I ignored them. I just sat and watched Kane “The Devil” Rhodes cook me pasta.

Naked.

I filed that away in my memories, knowing even then that it was something I’d revisit long after he’d forgotten about me.

I placed my fork in the center of my clean plate, licking my lips. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to finish the mountain of pasta Kane had served me, but I was obviously hungrier than I’d realized.

“That was amazing,” I said honestly.

He smacked his lips, his own plate empty too. “I get the chef’s stamp of approval?” he asked without self-consciousness.

I nodded. “You definitely do.”

In more ways than one, was what I left unsaid.

I leaned over to get his plate, stacking it with mine. “I’ll get the dishes.”

Kane caught my wrist. “Fuck the dishes. They’ll still be there in the morning.”

My eyes went to the chaotic kitchen, to our plates. Again, it went against all my instincts to leave such a mess.

“Give you a little brain aneurysm thinking of this sitting overnight?” Kane teased, this thumb gently rubbing the inside of my wrist.

I looked at him. He was smiling. Again, he wasn’t put off by my obvious Type-A personality. He seemed to find it … endearing?

I smiled back without even meaning to. “Maybe.”

He didn’t reply, just looked at me with too much knowing and tenderness.

Suddenly, I was uncomfortable under that gaze. Uncomfortable in his shirt, with a stomach full of his food. It was easy. Too easy.

“It’s late.” I yanked my wrist out of his grasp, voice cold.

It was the middle of the night. I wasn’t tired. Though I should’ve been. I’d been up since dawn, worked to get everything prepped at the restaurant for one of my very rare nights off. I was on my feet for hours out of the day, and I wasn’t athletically fit. Then there was the physical exertion of the sex.

Despite that, my limbs tensed, ready to bolt. “I should go.”

Kane quirked a brow. “Babe, I’m far from fuckin’ done with you.” Clearly, he was not bothered by my tone, my change in demeanor. Not threatened by it. He nodded his head to the dishes. “That was just to fuel the tank. You want to go?” I’d opened my mouth to argue, but he spoke first. “Really want to go? Or you think you should? Just like you think you should do the dishes?”

My spine straightened at the way he spoke. Plainly, challenging me. But there was no judgment or malice.

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