Page 31 of The Boyfriend Boycott
Contentedness. That’s the soft, supple emotion that has settled within me. It’s probably just the endorphins, the oxytocin coursing through my veins. A physical response to a physical feeling. A human body having a human experience.
Not because of the way my eyes stung with held-back tears as Grady gazed down at me, seeing me as I’ve never been seen before. Not because of the way Grady claimed me, or because ofhow confident he was that what we shared is not over. No, those feelings are not the cause of my contentment. Those feelings are terrifying. Allowing those feelings would be naïve, ignorant to the path of destruction all the Sinclair women leave in the wake of their love lives, the way I leave a path of destruction, whether Grady chooses to see that or not.
My emotional capacity is for sex and sex only. I have proven that to myself time and time again. It’s better to be upfront about that right from the start.
“I should go home,” I whisper in the dark.
“What? You want to go home?” Grady brings a hand up to brush a piece of hair away that had fallen over my face. The sensation of his calloused fingertips on my cheek warms my skin, but the tenderness with which he did it makes my heart drop. I made a promise to myself; no relationships. Sleeping over is the first step into relationship territory. “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you feel?—”
“No, nothing like that,” I interrupt him, my voice still hushed. “I think we need to re-establish some rules,” I say, the only way I know how to protect myself in these situations. “You know, before things get out of hand.”
“Out of hand? All I want is to get out of hand with you.”
Fuck. This has already gone too far, and as I suspected, I’m the only one now who can see it for what it is.
“No strings, remember? That’s the only rule we have left. We can do this, but there’s no expectations. Let’s call it a friends-with-benefits situation.” Deep down, I know friends-with-benefits is still risky. I don’t trust Grady to keep his feelings in check, but I don’t want this to end yet.
“Whatever you need, Spencer,” Grady says. “You don’t have to worry about me.” He makes anXover his heart like he did that first night, a promise to keep it guarded. Okay. Maybe this will work.
CHAPTER 13
GRADY
Steam hissesas I throw a handful of prawns into the sizzling frying pan. I give it a shake and set it back down on the stove, before I turn around and jot down the last few ingredients I added.The aroma of garlic permeates the air making my mouth water.
It’s just me in the industrial kitchen at the back of the Whisky Jack this morning. The gas range heats the space, and a bead of sweat forms on my temple despite the fresh, dewy air wafting in through the back door.
Spencer was right the other night. Perhaps it’s time to uplevel, to give people a reason to come to the Whisky Jack that isn’t because we’re the only sit-down restaurant in town. So, I’m here before opening, testing out some ideas I had after I took Spencer home.
Developing recipes has always been a hobby of mine, one that I haven’t indulged in for a long while. Between running the bar and coaching Little League, I haven’t found the time. I forgot how satisfying it is when a recipe comes together. Not only that, when you can serve it to someone else and see how they savour that very first bite. That look of pure ecstasy as they experience a new combination of flavours is what I live for. That was thelook on Spencer’s face when I cooked for her, and it reignited something in me.
My head is elsewhere though, because I have a different image seared into my brain. The look on Spencer’s face when I was buried to the hilt inside her sparked something in me, too. It felt almost forbidden, to indulge in a feeling so sweet, so delicious.
Then, she told me she wanted to go home, and the spark snuffed out. Extinguished, but not forgotten. Whatever this is between us, it’s real. I feel it in my bones, in every fibre of my being. The connection we have is like a living, breathing thing. It’s only a matter of time before she sees it, too.
The corner of my eye catches a familiar flash of red hair before I hear the knock on the door. I glance up from the fresh herbs I’m chopping to find Spencer, peeking around the corner from the alley out back.
“Knock knock,” she says, as if actually knocking wasn’t enough. “I swung by the house this morning but obviously you weren’t home, so I figured I’d try here. Can I come in, or is this entrance for staff only?”
“No, come in. It’s for you, too.” I gesture for her to enter, and wipe my hands on my apron. My gaze flicks down to Spencer’s arms as she waltzes in through the door. She’s carrying a heavy-looking binder under one arm and a large tote slung over her shoulder.A welcome cool breeze wafts in behind her. She smells like springtime, sweet sunshine and wildflowers. She looks like springtime too, eyes deep green like the first signs of life after winter or fresh cut grass.
I realize I’ve been gawking at her longer than any sane person would when I smell something burning.
“Shit,” I say, hurrying back to the pan and shaking the almost-charred prawns around before setting them on a different element and turning off the stove.
“You’re here early today,” Spencer points out, surveying my workspace, and I try to ignore the fact that she has familiarized herself with my work schedule. “Something smells incredible. Other than whatever is burning.”
“Yeah? Hopefully it tastes just as good,” I say, stirring the pot of sauce I’ve been toying with. I think I finally nailed down the right combination of spices. “Do you want to try it?”
I scoop up a small amount of red sauce into a spoon and blow on it gently before holding it out for her. She doesn’t take it from me, she just approaches and allows me to feed it to her.
“Fuck me,” she mumbles past a full mouth. “That’s incredible. What is this for?”
“You got me thinking about what I could do to improve the bar, and this is what I’ve come up with. I thought about rolling some of these out as specials, see how they land,” I explain.
“How would you feel about saving them for our special event?” Spencer flashes me apretty pleaselook, and I’m still trying to figure out what special event she’s talking about. I always feel about ten steps behind with Spencer.
“Is this phase three?”
