Page 70 of Behind the Net

She blinks. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

I shrug like it doesn’t matter. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

“I do want to,” she says quickly. “I’m just surprised.” She tips a smile at me, and my nerves settle a fraction. “Pleasantly surprised.” Is she blushing? She wanders to the oven and peers in. “Enchiladas?”

I nod. “Black bean, yam, and spinach. Ready in twenty.”

She heads upstairs to drop her stuff, and I blow out a long breath as my head falls back. Five minutes later, I’m loading the dishwasher when she returns to the kitchen. She reaches to pass me a bowl, and our fingers brush. Electricity spikes through our touch, and I jerk back.

“What’s up with you?” She gives me an amused, curious look. “You’re so jumpy.”

My shoulders tense. “I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Jamie, your shoulders are at your ears. Do you need a massage or something?”

My cock stiffens, thinking about her soft hands kneading into my neck. Jesus fuck. “I don’t need a massage,” I blurt out.

She puts her hands up. “I didn’t sayIwas going to do it. Relax.”

I’m fuckingblowingthis. I drag a breath in. Pippa moves in front of the sink to wash a knife, and without thinking, my hands are on her shoulders, moving her away.

“I’ll clean up. I didn’t make this mess so you can clean up after me.”

“I know.” She shrugs under my hands. “I’m happy to help. I live here, too.”

“Pippa. Sit down.”

She sets the clean knife on the drying pad and turns to me with a worried look. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” I hate myself. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed out today.”

Her mouth twists. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

There I go again, picturing her sinking to her knees and taking me between her pretty lips. I’m about to say no, but another image appears in my head. Us sitting in the living room in the middle of the night while she plays the guitar.

“Music.” I fold my arms across my chest, leaning against the counter. “That would help.”

A smile lifts on her mouth and she reaches for her phone. “I can play DJ, no problem.”

“No.”

Her gaze snaps up to mine, one eyebrow raised.

“You.”

Her mouth twists to the side again, but she holds my gaze. “That was a one-time thing.” She smiles like she’s kidding, but vulnerability flashes through her eyes, and my chest aches.

I lift my eyebrows at her. “I made dinner.” Just like her, I’m teasing, but I’m also not.

We stare at each other, and I feel her resolve fading.

“Come on, songbird,” I murmur. “You going to make me beg?”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine. But only because you’re clearly having a bad day.” A little smile curves on her pretty mouth and her eyes lose that hesitant expression from a moment ago. She heads to the stairs.

She returns with her guitar and takes a seat on the couch. I stand in the messy kitchen, staring as she positions the guitar on her lap, looping the strap over her shoulder.

It feels almost too good to be true.

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