Page 24 of Bad at Love

“Not what I asked.”

“This is your second Wednesday here. You can’t remember what you ate last Wednesday?” I raise a brow, turning toward him.

“Gabe, I don’t remember what I ate yesterday.”

I groan. “Gabriel.”

“Right, sorry.”

He puts a mug under the spout and presses the button to start it.

“French Toast.”

“Oh yeah! I remember now. I said it was the best I’d ever had.”

“Not much of a compliment considering you’d only ever had frozen French Toaststicks.”

He shrugs, leaning against the counter. My gaze dips to the way the muscles in his forearms tense. They aren’t too thick or too thin. Dark hair, veins. They’re nice arms. Really nice arms. Especially his biceps. They’re more toned than mine, but not so much that it’stoomuch. He has no issue walking through a door, which is good. Too many muscles are scary.

“What can I say? I was a picky eater as a kid.”

I shake out of it, turning my gaze back to the pan and flipping the pieces of bread.

Was I just checking him out?What is wrong with me? I don’t do that. Not only because he’s a guy, but because he’s a person and I don’t like people.

“Yeah,” I say. The word comes out raspy, so I clear my throat.

“What’s your secret?”

“Huh?” I look up at him because he’s now very close. Much closer than he was a moment ago.

“The French Toast. How is it so good?”

Why is his voice so low all of a sudden?

“Oh, um... I don’t know. It’s just basic French Toast.”

He moves even closer, stopping inches from me, and I get a whiff of this intoxicating scent that is justhimmixed with a hintof cedar, which is the body wash he uses. I scoped it out while showering the other day because it just smells so damn good. It’s much better than the original clean scent I use.

“Well, what’s in it? I’ve never made it before.”

Why is he so close? He’s so freaking close.Why?

And why does he smellso good?

“Uh, just the basic stuff.”

“You said that. Whatisthe basic stuff, Gabriel?”

My head jerks in his direction. I smell the mint on his breath—at least he’s hygienic. That is a plus. We’re nearly touching and I feel the warmth from his body radiating from him, reaching my skin.

Why is he so close?

His lips turn up in the smallest smirk, causing my gaze to dart to them. They look so soft. Softer than Tara’s. Softer than mine, too, I’d bet. As soon as I look at them, I bring my gaze back to his eyes and see something there. Excitement? But why? Is he laughing at me? For what? Is there something on my face?

I pull my gaze away, pushing my glasses up before answering, “Uh, eggs. Milk.”

“That it?” His voice is smooth, low.

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