Page 42 of Musical Games
‘Do you need me to do anything?’
‘No, you put your feet up.’ He pulled a bottle out of a warmer on the side and dropped a couple of drops of milk onto the inside of his wrist. Liam grabbed at it. ‘Get it down you, champ.’ He walked with him to the door and disappeared up the stairs.
Sam poured herself another glass of Prosecco and surveyed the kitchen. True to his word, everything was prepared, but it looked as if he was about to do a cookery demonstration. Whenever a man had cooked for her in the past, she’d wished he hadn’t. In order to produce a meal that was merely substandard, every pan and utensil had been used and half the meal was plastered over every available surface. The men then behaved as if they’d single-handedly designed and built the Pyramids of Giza, sitting back with a beer and mansplaining that ‘cook doesn’t wash up’.
Wanting to do something to help, Sam found plates and cutlery. There were scented candles in the middle of the table, and she lit them before she could stop herself, justifying that she was helping remove the cooking smells. On the kitchen counter was an old CD player containing a disc ofThe All-Time Greatest Love Songs. She put it on to play with a smile she convinced herself was ironic.
Just as her nerves were starting to get the better of her, Jamie came downstairs and turned everything to DEFCON four. How could he have become even better looking in the space of fifteen minutes? His eyes seemed darker, his hair thicker, his jaw more stubbly, his shoulders broader. Had he been snorting testosterone? His forearms were corded with muscle, his hands,oh fucking hell, his hands... Sam wanted to weep with desire. ‘Think of Brad!’ a tiny part of her screamed, whilst the bigger part yelled, ‘Brad who?’
Jamie turned his attention back to the kitchen.
‘You sure I can’t do anything?’ she asked.
‘You could pretend to like it?’
Sam sat at the table and allowed herself to ogle his backside as he worked.You’re pissed. Slow the fuck down. She pushed her glass of Prosecco away and tried to think of Ian Berresford as the ultimate passion killer. But every time she tried to imagine Ian’s hairless, greased-up body sashaying towards her, the image disappeared like mist burned off by the sun.
Oh god. Now Jamie was singing along to the CD.Fuck’s sake!His voice was quiet, but sooo good. As he sang ‘I Wanna Sex You Up’, her thighs involuntarily clenched and she shifted on her chair. This was torture. The sooner she got to have sex with Brad, or anyone else, the better. She couldn’t entertain thoughts about someone this special who didn’t want her and would never be hers.
If waiting for the food was painful, then eating it was like being given a tour of heaven knowing you’d never make the grade to enter. Jamie looked uncertain as he dished up and visibly sagged with relief when she told him it was better than anything she’d eaten outside of the cookery school on Koh Samui. Despite the shortbread she’d eaten earlier, she was hungry and ate everything he put in front of her.
‘So, you did a fast when you went to Thailand. Was that to prepare you for the cookery course?’ he asked.
Sam shook her head, shaking up the memories. She wanted to hold back, but her stomach was contentedly full of food, and alcohol had made her blood run warm and slow.
‘No, I had a lot of health issues growing up and it all came to a head during my final year at uni. The fast was a reset. It gave my system a break.’
‘How long did you stop eating for?’
She pushed food onto her fork. ‘Thirty days.’
There was a clatter as Jamie dropped his cutlery. ‘A month?’
She nodded.
‘Fuck. Did it work?’
She looked up. ‘Yes. It was the start of the healing process. It was the first step.’
He puffed out his cheeks. ‘You’re amazing. I get grumpy if breakfast is ten minutes late.’
‘I thought grumpy was your default setting?’
He grinned. ‘So I’ve been told.’
They continued eating in silence.
‘So, the gluten thing,’ he began. ‘Is that to do with it?’
She nodded.
‘Are you a celeriac?’
She snorted with laughter and started coughing as a bit of food went down the wrong way. Jamie passed her glass of Prosecco and she gulped it down, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes.
‘Do you mean coeliac? Celeriac is a vegetable.’
Jamie blushed but still managed to grin at her. ‘Fiona often says I’ve got less brains than a potato.’
