Page 25 of Friends Rucked Up

“Mine too. Other than your head, does anything else hurt?” The throb in my forehead is starting to ease and I hope hers is, too.

“No, I’m fine.” She makes a show of dusting off her hands even though she didn’t fall on the floor.

I take her empty cup with my own and carry them until we find a bin. We grab a sandwich when we get back to the tea room and eat it on the tables outside.

“That was fun. We should do it again if you fancy it,” I say, as we reach the car.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

***

Later that night, I’m watching the rugby highlights when a text message comes through. I’m instantly smiling when I see who it’s from.

Saylor: Microwave meals for one are depressing.

Alfie: Why the hell would you put that rubbish in your body?

Saylor: I’ve lost my chef.

The offer to come over and cook is on the tip of my tongue, but if I do, I’m not going to want to leave. I’ve loved having her in my bed and the smell of her on my sheets is fading.

Alfie: You should’ve paid him better.

Saylor: He doesn’t accept kisses and I’m poor. ;)

Flirting while there’s distance between us feels safe. Her message gets my blood flowing down below and I don’t instantly try to get rid of it. Picturing her face, I imagine what it would be like to kisses her luscious full lips, fuelling my erection further.

Alfie: Come over and I’ll whip up some eggs.

I didn’t last thirty seconds before I changed my mind about closing the distance between us. Her kitchen is as messy as the rest of her place, and if she’s serious about wanting me to feed her I’ve offered a solution.

The text bubbles appear on the screen and then disappear. It takes a while before her answer comes through.

Saylor: On my way.

Rolling off the couch, I hurry to the bedroom to change my trousers. I can’t wear joggers around her or she’s going to get an eyeful if I get an erection. I may be able to will it away for now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to keep it down all night. It might be over the top, but I change into smart trousers and a shirt. I’m only on the first button as there’s a knock on the door. When I open it, I don’t miss her lingering eyes as I finish fastening it up.

“What are you wearing?” she asks with a frown.

“Why are you knocking on the door when you usually let yourself in? This is my chef outfit, but you didn’t give me enough time to make a paper hat.”

She ignores my question completely. “You’re such a goofball.”

“Don’t tell my teammates. I have a reputation to maintain.” I’m usually the serious one that offers reasons, but when I’ve dressed up, I need an excuse.

She rolls her eyes. “I put a bra on for these eggs, so they better be good.”

“I don’t mind a nipple show,” I say cheekily but instantly regret it. A naked Saylor in any shape or form is not what I need to be thinking about.

“That wasn’t what I offered. Besides, I know you’d totally freak out.” She’s probably right.

We go into my kitchen area; I find a pan and crack some eggs into it. I add a few cubes of ham and black pepper, easily whipping up a mean omelette. She sits to the counter, and I serve it up. I watch as she tucks into it.

“Delicious,” she says between mouthfuls of food.

“I aim to please.” Filling the bowl, I wash the pan and spatula.

“Oh, I’m satisfied.” She polishes off the eggs and licks her lips.

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