Page 30 of Run, Run, Roommates
I stand up and peer into the bowl. “No?”
“Ugh.” Marco resumes beating the batter with his whisk. He’s also got flour in his hair. And there’s a handprint on the black T-shirt at his ribs.
“How did you get covered in flour already?”
He glances down at himself. “I’m following the recipe. Step one: whisk flour with . . . uh, stuff. I can’t remember if it’s baking powder or baking soda.”
I raise an eyebrow. “These have to be edible cookies.”
Marco scowls. “I only bought what the recipe calls for, so whichever one that was, I used it.”
I hide my smile while I tape a flap of wrapping paper closed. “We don’t have a mixer?”
“Nah. I didn’t want to buy one for one batch of cookies. Although I guess I could have checked William’s place.”
“Billy Bob’s,” I correct, because every time I call William by the hillbilly nickname, Marco enjoys it.
He flashes a grin at me like I knew he would. “He probably has some fancy stand mixer he’s never used.”
“I’m pretty sure we used a stand mixer for cookies when I was growing up.”
Marco harrumphs. He’s whisking aggressively and my arm is getting tired just from watching him.
“I wish we had a stand mixer,” I continue. “I do miss baking. I have my grandma’s snowball cookie recipe somewhere.” My eyes land on Marco’s forearm. He’s whisking nice and evenly, the whisk making circles in the batter. His muscles flex, especially where his bicep meets his forearm.
Mmm, that’s nice.
He stops momentarily to shift his grip. “Let me know if you need me to take a turn,” I say.
“Nah.” He looks down at the bowl.
“Well, you do go to the gym, though I’m not sure what exercise you do to get strong enough for . . .” I gesture as if I’m whisking my own bowl.
I’m not entirely sure what happens, but Marco loses his grip on the bowl and the whisk flies up, spraying batter everywhere. Marco attempts to save the bowl, and his efforts work to keep the bowl from hitting the floor but not enough to save most of the batter.
Splat.
We both stare at the carpet.
“Fuck,” Marco says. There’s a beige blob on Bea’s rug, but that’s only the start of my concerns.
“Uh, do we have enough ingredients to start over?”
Marco runs a hand down his face. “No. Fuck. I’m not sure this is worth the points.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice. I was looking forward to decorating.
When I look up from the floor, Marco’s watching me. One corner of his lips pulls up in a slight smile. “We do have to consider, though, the enjoyment factor.”
A matching smile creeps onto my face. “What, were you actually enjoying baking cookies?”
Marco grins at my teasing. “I was until you made the jerk-off gesture.”
I gasp and shove his shoulder. “I did not!”
Now he full-on laughs and I love it. Such a change from this morning. “You totally did. You were wondering what exercise builds whisking muscles?—”
“Marco!”
