Page 29 of Up In Flames
I’m going to bake.
Cookies always make me feel better. And if I can’t improve Knox’s disposition with orgasms, I’ll do it with cookies instead.
I whip my small car around Knox’s pickup and pull into the garage, shutting the door behind me before heading upstairswith my new purchase, smiling at the outfit. Who said French maids could only be women?
Fucking no one. That’s who.
The little white lacey apron is attached to a black leotard underneath the short skirt, so myentireass isn’t hanging out the back, just enough to make a statement. I even put on the choker that it came with because it’s cute and exactly the look I’m going for.
Knox’s words swirl devilishly in my mind.And then what? You’ll bring me to my knees as I put you on yours?
Precisely, big boy.
I’m here to serve, and I can guarantee once I drop to my knees for him, Knox won’t be far behind.
I swipe on my mascara, knowing it’s risky, but choosing to follow through anyway. This could be way too much and might turn him off completely…orthe hint of femininity could be what makes him comfortable enough to finally give in.
Feeling flirty and fun, I bounce down the stairs, connect my phone’s Bluetooth to the speaker in the kitchen, and start preparing my cookie dough.
When I have the first batch in the oven, I pause to sing the lines of the I Prevail song at the top of my lungs, moving my body to the rhythm. I’m sure I’m a sight to behold in my frilly new outfit, baking cookies, and headbanging to metal, but for the first time in a long time, I’m smiling at myself.
There is finally sun on my horizon.
In some weird way, it would seem Knox has been good for me already. The thought makes me want to double my efforts to help him relieve his own burdens, whatever they may be beyond his obvious sexual repression.
When the first batch of cookies is done, I pull them out and set them on the cooling rack before placing batch number two in the oven. I’m playing an extremely complicated part on my airguitar when the door behind me opens. My heart skips a beat until I turn to see Javier come into the kitchen.
“Oh, hey Javi,” I greet, turning down the music.
He lets out a low whistle. “Hola, Papi. I like your outfit,” he says with a smile.
“Muchas gracias,” I reply with a twirl, using all the Spanish I know.
He comes over to the baking rake and inhales deeply. “I knew I smelled something good in here.” Chuckling, he adds, “I’d bust a nut if I came home to find my wife baking cookies in this outfit.”
I like Javi. He doesn’t feel the need to be extra nice just because we’re obviously very different from each other, nor does he do that thing where he’s almost overly accepting just to make sure I know he isn’t judging. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that gesture from people, but Javi is just interacting normally, and I appreciate that way more.
I give him a wink. “Buy her the outfit, and maybe she will.”
He lets out a loud laugh this time. “You don’t know my wife. She’d throw it at me and tell me if I wanted cookies so badly, I should make them my damn self…and trust me, I wouldn’t look nearly as good in that as you do.”
My brows raise in surprise. “She, uh, sounds lovely,” I lie.
“I love her, but between you and me, if I had to do it all over again, I probably wouldn’t get married. Especially after watching Knox go through his divorce.”
His statement piques my interest. Knox mentioned that his wife left him, but he didn’t dive into story mode. It seems like a sensitive subject, and I’m hoping maybe I can get some answers from Javi.
“What happened?” I ask as casually as I can manage, feigning nonchalance by transferring the cookies from the rack to a plate.
“She was just gone one day when he got home from a job. Nothing but a note and her wedding band on the table. He was a mess. Karen left behind a broken man with a broken heart, and he hasn’t been the same since.”
“That’s awful,” I answer honestly.
“Yeah. He used to laugh and cut up with us, play pranks on us, and go out to lunch with us. Now he just scowls at us, does the job, and goes home to his empty house.” My heart breaks for the man fighting so many battles on his own. “May I?” Javier asks, pointing to the cookies now on the plate.
“Help yourself.”
He shoves a cookie into his mouth, moaning obscenely.
