Page 82 of Lovetown, USA
For a slick one, this sure feels genuine.
He claps his hands together. “Where do you wanna start?
“Cookies,” I say. “Those are easy.”
“You don’t seem like the type to take the easy way out,” he teases.
“I’m not. Iamthe type to burn water, though, so you might wanna take the lead on this.”
He laughs. “I can lead if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.”
He winks, and my stomach does a flip.
I watch him lug bags of flour and sugar, enjoying the sight of his muscles bulging under the weight.
Together, we grab mixing bowls, utensils, and other necessary things I don’t have in my kitchen at home, like a whisk and sheet pans.
Reginald used to tease me about my lack of domesticity, but I’ve never been the type to cook. Or decorate. Or clean. I just did what I had to do to be able to afford hiring those services out.
But I know now that some men wanna take a career woman and make her a housewife. Just to say they did it.
Trey and I fall into a rhythm almost immediately. I crack eggs while he measures sugar. We occasionally bump into each other at the mixing bowls. At one point, we fight over the whisk—I want it to stir my cookie dough, but he insists he needs it for the buttercream icing. He wins by default when I realize the cookie dough is stiff as hell and I don’t have the arm strength, but he’s nice about it. He only teases me a little.
Then my eyes fall on a large electronic mixer on the back table.
“Wait,” I say, drawing his attention. “Why are we using elbow grease when there’s a big ass mixing machine right there?”
Trey doesn’t even look over at it. “It’s more fun this way. Aren’t you having fun?”
“My arm hurts.”
He bursts out laughing. “You’re the one trying to mix cement with a toothpick.”
I give him a playful look. “Why you bringing up old shit?”
He looks up, then walks closer to me. “Hold on…you have…” he trails off as he swipes a finger across my cheek. “Flour.”
But I don’t care about the flour. I’m warm again, this time from his touch. And staring up into his eyes isn’t helping.
I think…I like him.
He dips his head to press a soft kiss against my lips, but it’s over before I can even close my eyes.
“Lots to do,” he says softly. “Let’s not get distracted.”
“You’re the one who came over here touching me.”
“My bad,” he says. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
He says that, but then five minutes later, he’s behind me, assisting me as I stir the brownie mix. It’s not a two-person job in the least, but I like the feel of his body behind mine, his large hand covering mine. And when he presses against me, and I feel his erection, my eyes flutter shut. My body shivers when he nuzzles my neck with his nose.
“Trey…”
His response is a kiss just below my jaw.
“We’re supposed to be working,” I murmur.
