Page 42 of Under Pressure

Mia: Thanks for taking me to the gym again. Want to study for Motivation soon? I’ve got a test in a few days. I’ll make you cupcakes. :)

Speaking of, I haven’t written anything in my journal for my own Motivation class lately. I make plans with her for tomorrow night to study at her apartment, then pull out my notebook, filling in things from the last couple days. And look, Mia makes it easy. I fill in tomorrow’s entry—Studying with a friend to make a good grade and because she’ll bake me cupcakes.Today’s entry is a little harder though—Took a friend boxing because…Why did I take her? I can’t very well say it was to prove to myself that she has no sexual power over me. I erase what I wrote and write insteadWent to the gym to clear my head.

That’s still accurate. My head is clear now. I’ll go over and study tomorrow, and if things get heated, I’m ready this time. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just scratching an itch.

An itch named Mia.

Chapter Twelve

Tyler

“You didn’t sayI’d have to make the cupcakes.”

I glance around at Mia’s kitchen counters filled with all sorts of canisters and bottles. How am I supposed to know how everything goes together?

“You just have to combine the dry ingredients. The measurements are right there on that paper.” She points to the directions and continues measuring out vanilla extract into a teaspoon. I tried that stuff once straight out of the bottle when Mom was making a birthday cake for my brother. I shudder in remembrance. Never again.

“Yeah, okay.” It’s not rocket science. I can do it.

Flour. Sugar. Baking soda. Salt.

Salt?

“Are you sure it needs salt?”

“Mm-hmm.” She whips everything else together in a bowl with a practiced arm. She’s definitely here in her element in the kitchen.

“So why do you have to use unsalted butter if you’re just going to add the salt back in?”

She turns to me, still stirring, and tilts her head to the side. “I don’t know,” she laughs. “But I need it mixed yesterday, so hurry it up.”

“So bossy.” I grin, picking up a measuring cup to scoop flour into it.

“You like it,” she teases.

The truth is… I actually do. The thought of her bossing me around in the bedroom sends tingles down my spine.

But I’ve never let a girl tell me what to do, and I’m not about to start with her.

“I think you like it more when I’m bossy,” I tell her, setting my bowl of measured ingredients next to her.

Her arm falters in its rhythm for a moment before picking it back up. “No, I don’t.” She dumps half of the flour mixture into her bigger bowl, avoiding my eye. “That first day when we interviewed—”

“I’m not talking about that.” I settle in behind her, placing my hands on her waist, squeezing gently. I don’t say anything else, letting her draw her own conclusion, and she must come to the same one I intended because her breaths pick up, her body instinctively moving back until her ass brushes the front of my jeans.

She jumps away, spilling batter on the counter, and her hands rise in panic. “Oh, God. This is a mess.”

I grab a dish towel off the stove handle and ease her aside. “You finish the cupcakes. I’ll clean up.”

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I wipe up the spill and place all the dirty dishes in the sink. Her movements become more controlled as the minutes tick by, and when she pops the cupcake tins in the oven, she’s calm again.

She washes her hands, still silent as she dries them, then finally looks up at me. “Sorry I’m a spaz.”

I tuck an escaped curl back behind her ear. “You never have to be sorry.”

She bites her lip, a hint of desire filling her eyes before taking a step closer, whispering, “Kelsey won’t be home for a couple hours.”

“Really?” I close the distance between us, brushing her cheek with my thumb. “Looks like you got some stray sugar here.” I move my thumb till it’s almost touching her mouth. “And here.”

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