Page 66 of Catch Me
“I’m always lost.” Gritting my teeth, I jerked my head away to break his hold, then I stepped back. My own words made me panic, and I didn’t want him to see it, so I turned around, ready to do the thing I should’ve done ten minutes ago: run.
He latched onto my wrist and pulled me to a stop. “Cook dinner with me.”
“Why?”
Releasing me, he came around in front of me. A kind, casual smile appeared on his face. “The reason I went to the store was to get things for my favorite cold weather meal.”
“Which is?”
“Pot pies. Ever made them from scratch?”
“No.”
“It’s a bonding experience. Actually, I’ve only made them with my mom when I was younger or by myself, so I can’t say for sure. It might be more akin to putting together Ikea furniture with someone, but I’m willing to give it a shot if you are.”
“I’m kind of tired . . .”
“No, you aren’t. If things go to shit, my knives are very sharp and it’s always likely I’ll be too distracted to defend myself fast enough.”
I rubbed the back of my neck and found myself nodding. “Yeah, that might be cool.”
“Sweet. Go change into shorts or something.”
“Uh, why?”
“Because it’s more comfortable than cooking in jeans. It’s Saturday, man. We’re supposed to be lazy.”
I looked at his basketball shorts and...were those fuzzy socks? I was ashamed to say it, but they looked comfortable as hell.
“Want a pair?” he asked when he saw me looking.
“Fuck no.”
“Let go once in a while, Roman. There’s nobody here to make you feel weird about it.”
“There’s you,” I pointed out.
“Yup, and I’ll make you feel weird if youdon’twear them.”
With a scowl, I brushed past him. If he did give me a pair after I changed, Imightput them on. It was unlikely, though.
Chapter 22
Travis
While I added flour to my stand mixer, I glanced over at Roman. I promised myself that I wouldn’t make it weird if he put on the socks, but he looked so out of place with them on, what with all his tattoos and surly disposition. It was extremely hard not to laugh.
When he saw me struggling to hold it in, he narrowed his eyes. I held up a hand, even as I failed to keep myself together.
“Don’t get mad,” I said through the lulls in my laughter.
“Don’t be a dick.”
“I’m not. You look adorable.” My eyes watered, and I pursed my lips in an attempt to quell this shit that would probably get me stabbed.
“Are we gonna paint our nails and do face masks next?”
“Hey, no toxic masculinity here. I get enough of that during the season. And no, we’re not doing that. I’ll leave the polish to your stepbrother since he pulls it off way better than I ever could. Facemasks are a Sunday thing.”
