Page 26 of Neighbors With Benefits

“How long have we been best friends, Jazz?”

“Since Freshman orientation at UMass.”

She nodded emphatically. “Eight years. Literally every year of your adult life. And in those eight years I’ve come to know you better than you know yourself. You have a crush on one of them. Or both.”

I sputtered a laugh. “I don’t have a crush on either of them.” But as I said the words out loud, I couldfeelthat it wasn’t the truth. I had spent a lot of time thinking about Aiden and Bash. Our game nights and Sunday dinners had become the highlights of my week.

Cat gave me a smug grin and sipped her drink. “You can keep lying yourself if you want. But when you’re ready to admit it, I’ll be here to listen to the juicy details.”

9

Jazz

I thought about what Cat had said when I was at Sunday dinner with the guys. We were at my place this week, and Aiden was helping me make soup.

“I need the celery, carrots, and onions chopped up,” I instructed while fishing out all the spice jars from my cabinet.

Aiden gave a little salute. “Yes, chef.”

When we all first started hanging out, Aiden wore wrinkled sweatpants. But lately he’d swapped them for a pair of Vuori sweatpants, which were more expensive and tighter-fitting. His ass lookedamazingin them, like they were tailored to show off his cute little butt.

And they were so tight that every now and then, when he turned a certain way, I could see the outline of his dick.

I tried not to stare, but it was hard—pun intended—not to. He had to know I could see the ridge of the tip pressing against the fabric, right? Was that on purpose? An extremely passive form of flirting, like when I wore a low-cut top to show off my cleavage?

That was cruel. It was a huge distraction while I was trying to focus on stirring a roux on the stove to mix into the soup.

But I wasn’t innocent. I was wearing my nicest pajama pants too, and a cute top that I wouldn’t have put on if I was just hanging out by myself. I had also started doing my hair and makeup before meeting them. Not enough for them to know I had put in the work, but enough that they would notice how good I looked.

Or so I hoped.

Cat was right: I cared what they thought. They were good-looking guys, and I wanted them to like me. Part of that meant wanting them to think I was attractive. That was just normal vanity, I told myself. Not because I wanted anything to happen.

“I like this,” Bash said, leaning on the kitchen island and sipping his beer. “You guys do all the cooking, and I do all the eating.”

“You bring the alcohol,” I pointed out. “That’s the most important job.”

“Where do you want the chopped veggies?” Aiden asked.

“Dump them right in the pot.”

He moved alongside me, his elbow brushing my arm in passing. I stood my ground in front of the other burner, enjoying the way he felt in my personal space. The hair on my arms and neck stiffened as he scraped the chopped veggies into the pot with the back of his knife.

“What next?” he asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

“Shred the chicken, then add it back to the pot.”

“Yes, chef.”

I liked the way he said that. There was a hint of flirtiness in his tone. Like he was obeying a sexy command.

We ate the soup with store-bought rolls, then Bash excused himself to watch the Phillies game back at their place.

“I’m going to get another beer,” I said. “Want one? Or are you going to go watch the game, too?”

He smirked at me. “I’ll watch it later. After I’ve defeated you in a few rounds of Bananagrams.”

“Then you definitely need this,” I said, slamming a beer down in front of him. “Maybe it will slow you down.”

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