Page 77 of True Sight
“Thanks for cooking dinner, sweets,” I hum against his lips.
“A proper meal is important and I’m happy to provide one anytime you need.” His lips curl into a smile and we hold each other close for a beat before I release the device and let him get back to it.
“Do you need my help with anything? Can I cut or chop or, I don’t know, do anything remotely helpful?” I look around my kitchen which looks like a real chef is using it for the first time. Cans and produce are scattered around and my pitiful spice supply is waiting to be used. As my eyes take in the mess, my brain starts to get overwhelmed by the lack of order and I have a sudden urge to organize the mess.
Sensing my overwhelm, he leans in and kisses me on the cheek with a smile. “Why don’t you just sit at the counter and give me something nice to look at?”
“I can do that.” I smirk at him.
I hoist myself up into one of the bar stools and rest my elbows on the counter. He scans all the ingredients and starts to roll up his sleeves so they are tucked out of the way, exposing his strong and toned forearms. I lick my lips, not at the idea of the meal he is about to make for us but at the image my mind conjures up of the muscles in his arms pulsating as he works to get me?—
“Conrad? Did you hear me?”
“What?” My voice cracks and I shake my head out and look at him. Clearing my throat, I adjust myself in my seat because the tension between my legs is making me uncomfortable.
“I asked if you prefer more garlic or less?” He raises a brow at me and chuckles.
“Oh, uhhh, more is fine. Yeah, I like garlic, so more is great,” I fumble out quickly as I try to regain my composure.
“You okay, love?” he asks as he starts to dice up the vegetables. He glances up at me through his lashes and I know he knows I’m not.
“Fine, I’m fine.” I push out a breath and the image of him jerking me off, and try to shift my focus so my hard-on will go away.
“So, tell me, how are things moving along at the studio? I still haven’t seen the newest renovation updates you know?” Last time I was at the studio was when I bailed on my friends this past weekend to have sex with him.
“Oh, things are great. Hardie and his guys are amazing and right on schedule for us to open the first week of January. They just finished the locker rooms and got the water running throughout the studio. The showers are to die for. I wish the bathroom at my place was as nice as they are. You should come see them sometime.” His voice trails off as he starts to slice some carrots.
“You want me to come see the new locker room showers?”
“No, I want you to come see the whole studio just…with a focus on the showers.” He gives me an enticing smirk and cocks his head to one side, waiting to see how I’ll respond.
“I think we could make that happen.” I smile back.
For the next thirty minutes I sit and watch as he chops, sears, and boils, creating a whole meal from a couple of random items. Cooking has never been something I’ve been interested in but watching him cook for us is something I can do daily and never get bored. His hands worked with precision and he moved around the kitchen like a professional. By the end of his dance, he’s created a delicious spaghetti dinner complete with homemade sauce.
“How’d you learn to cook?” I ask, as he sits down next to me at the bar. I don’t have a dining table as it’s only me andbuying an entire dining set felt wasteful. Now I wish I had one even if it’s only big enough for two.
“Oh, uhm, I worked in a kitchen for a few years after university.” There’s a hint of apprehension in his voice. “When my parents kicked me out after telling them I’m gay, they also cut me off and I needed to figure out a way to pay my bills. So I got jobs wherever I could. During the day, I worked in a kitchen at this posh restaurant that served people who made money just by wiping their noses. And in the evenings,” he pauses and glances up at me with a smirk, “I worked at a club who served the husbands dining at that fancy restaurant as they ‘blew off steam’ with other men of the night.”
“Wait, were you a?—”
“I was strictly a bartender,” he cuts me off and holds up a hand, putting to rest my thought that at one point in his life he exchanged sexual favors for money. I nod my head and take a bite of pasta, letting the explosion of flavors take over my tastebuds.
“So you can dance, make a mean cocktail, and cook a delicious meal all on your own.”
“I really am the perfect catch,” he quips confidently with a hand on his chest. We both chuckle and take another bite of food. When I glance over at him again, an idea strikes me.
“Hey, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
“Thanksgiving? Conrad, love, you know I’mEnglishright? We don’t celebrate your American Thanksgiving.” He’s smiling and shaking his head at me while he twirls another bite of spaghetti around his fork.
“Well, would you like to celebrate this year? With me? Here? Or at your place if you’d rather do that, I don’t care. I could show you what a real American holiday is like.”
His face lights up at the invitation but then falls quickly. “Thanksgiving, that’s in two weeks? Alex was telling me about it yesterday and I feel like I remember her saying it was at the end of the month.”
“Yeah, it’s always the last Thursday of the month,” I explain.
“Ugh, I would love to but I’m not going to be in town.”
