Page 111 of Wild Card
“You bake?” I cut in, gaze catching on what looks like a tray of fresh cookies and a pan of banana bread.
Bash rolls his eyes and turns back to the oven. “Clyde, shut up,” he says, stuffing his hands into oven mitts before he bends and pulls out what appears to be a casserole. The heavenly aroma makes my mouth water.
“What is that?” I ask, eyes widening when I see the cheese-crusted top.
He places it on a cutting board. “This is the casserole my mom used to make me when I was hungover.”
I scoff. “Me, hungover? No, I feel fabulous.”
Both Clyde and Bash look back at me with doubtful expressions.
But it’s Clyde who can’t keep himself from needling me. “That’s weird because you look like hell,” he announces.
“Only because I’m tired of your shit,” I say quickly. But then my attention is back on the food. “Bash, tell me about this. What’s in it? I want it.”
He tells me what’s in it as he dishes out generous servings for each of us—hash browns, yellow curry, cream, sour cream, butter, chicken, peas, and a lot of cheese.
“I think that’s it,” he says, squinting as though he’s trying to recall. “I had to pull the recipe out from an old book, but it definitely brings back a lot of memories of my teenaged years and is still one of my favorites. It’s not fancy, but it’ll stick to your ribs.”
I sit down next to Clyde as Bash slides the plate toward me. I moan when I take the first bite. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.
“Bash, this is amazing,” I announce.
Clyde shovels mouthfuls in, nodding along. When Bash takes a seat, Clyde stares at him with a look of wonder on his face.
“Damn,” he announces, jabbing his fork in Bash’s direction. “If she doesn’t marry you after this, I might.”
He gets a laugh from me and a groan from Bash. And I have to admit that, for a guy who seems so confused about so many things, Clyde doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to the two of us.
Neither of us responds to themarriagecomment, though. We carry on, talking about our days. Turns out they were busy.First baking happened, then Clyde’s occupational therapy at the hospital, grocery shopping and cleaning up after the party last night, and then there was more baking and cooking.
By the time we’re all caught up, I’m full, sleepy, and alarmingly content. I jump up to put the dishes away and tidy, munching on the world’s best chocolate chip cookie. As I devour it, I try not to make too many moaning noises, but they slip out anyway.
Bash sidles up behind me under the guise of putting a plate away in the cupboard above me. “If you keep moaning like that, I’m going to be stuck hanging around Clyde while trying to hide a massive boner,” he grits out under his breath.
From behind us, Clyde announces, “Well, on that note, I think I’m going to go take a nap or read my new book or just lock myself away from you two.”
I drop my chin to my chest, silent laughter shaking my shoulders.
“There’sno wayhe heard that,” Bash grumbles.
I turn to face him, watching the tail end of Clyde disappearing down the hall. “He’s an acquired taste, but I don’t think I can imagine my life without him.”
Bash’s expression turns thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah, me neither,” he says quietly.
Watching Clyde leave has a sense of longing surging up inside me. “I would kill for a nap,” I say.
Bash tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Okay, take a nap.”
“But I just got home. I feel like, I don’t know. Should we…hang out? I mean, we’ve kind of just fucked and partied after months of basically hiding from each other.”
Bash scrubs a hand over his stubble. “Okay, well, take a nap on the couch. I’ll throw on some sports and we can just relax. Together.”
My eyebrows raise on my forehead. “Like a normal couple?”
Bash looks rather amused by the concept as he nods. “Yeah, like a normal couple.”
We move into the living room, and I have to give myself an internal pep talk the entire way. We’ve had plenty of physical moments together, heated by passion, fueled by lust, tinged with alcohol. But now here we are, full bellies, dead sober, in a quiet living room.
