Page 46 of Seduction in Spades

“Are things... better? Trey hasn’t said much about all of this.”

“They’re quiet.” Since her hands are full when we reach her front step, I take her keys and unlock the outside door and then the one to the apartment.

Avery sets the groceries down, then washes her hands. I watch as she busies herself around the kitchen, heating up water and slicing vegetables.

“You’re staring.” She glances at me over her shoulder and continues slicing a red onion.

“Just watching.”

“Do you cook?”

“A little. My sister and mom love being in the kitchen, so I got away with not having to learn to do much. I usually got duped into cleanup. You remind me of her.”

“In what way?”

“Bossy.”

“I’m not bossy.” She dumps the onion in the skillet and points to a cabinet with her elbow. “Glasses are in there. Wine opener here.” She nudges the drawer to her left with her knee.

“See? Bossy.” I open the cabinet and find the basics. Two plates. Two bowls. Two glasses.

Avery isn’t a minimalist like me, but she’s making ends meet on a tight budget in an expensive city. I find two wine glasses and take them down.

“Does this mean I’m invited for dinner?”

“No. It means if you’re going to stand around, you might as well make yourself useful and pour me a glass of wine. I never said you could have one.”

She does a poor job of hiding her smirk. I pour one glass and sip from it instead of giving it to her. Avery narrows her eyes at me, and I chuckle.

She snags the glass and takes a healthy gulp before handing it back.

“You do this a lot, don’t you? Work your way into a woman’s kitchen for a free meal.”

“Absolutely. I’d go hungry if it weren’t for my impeccable skills of showing up on doorsteps when women were heading to the store to not buy batteries. Or better yet, coming home with groceries. It saves me all that time from having to make lame conversation.”

“Ugh. The worst. Forcing conversation when you don’t want to be with someone.”

“Mm.” I pour a second glass of wine and slide it over to the stove.

Avery picks it up and sips then returns to chopping the red pepper on the cutting board. “Have you always been like this? Forcing your way into women’s homes?”

“Pot. Kettle. Black. I believe you’re the professional stalker.”

“True. But you’re the more experienced one. First kiss. Who? When? Where?”

I laugh at her sudden change of topic. “You want to know who my first kiss was?”

She nods. “I bet you don’t even remember her name.”

“Gracie Brooks. She had red hair, green eyes, and freckles.”

“Wow. Quite specific. I take it you weren’t drunk. Where did you make out?”

I lean against the counter and take another sip of my wine, thoroughly enjoying our easy conversation and casual banter.

“Under the bleachers at a soccer game.”

“You’re kidding.” She rolls her eyes at me and returns to the pan sizzling with vegetables. “So cliché.”

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