Page 25 of Faking It with my Bestie's Billionaire Brother

"I don't think your oven has ever seen the likes of a Moretti lasagna. Then again, I don't think it's ever seen likes of anything, so tonight is going to be a great first time for that old girl," I told him teasingly.

Surprisingly, Spencer was full of questions as we headed back to his place. He wanted to know what kind of foods we usually had at these dinners, and I was more than happy to explain in detail the many delicious dishes that usually made an appearance at the Moretti table. I didn't know what his diet usually consisted of, but the way he was nearly salivating by the time we got back to his apartment, I suspected that it was lean, whatever it was. But there was nothing lean about what was going to be on that table tomorrow night. The old, wood table would groan under the weight of all of the decadent dishes waiting for my ravenous brothers, who left barely anything left for Ma and me.

By the time we got to Spencer's floor, I was so amped up to make this lasagna that we just hauled all the bags inside and set them on the kitchen counter and got to work.

The key to it being the best lasagna possible was if it was made the night before and then put into the refrigerator until it was time to leave, as it gave the flavors time to melt together. I would take it over tomorrow, heat it up in Ma's oven, and it would be amazing.

I had to give Spencer credit since he proved to be a dutiful student as I directed him to hand me this ingredient or that, and we actually had fun cooking together.

His kitchen was a dream. If you gave my mother state of the art appliances like the ones Spencer owned, she would probably never leave.

"Did you never really cook at all when you were younger, not even for Penny?" I asked him as I stirred the ricotta and egg mixture.

A fond smile overtook his lips. "As much as I should have, no. I was so busy with the company that I had a chef, but I didn't realize how much Penny hated it until she told me one day that she just wanted to eat like the other kids. So, I went through a spell of trying, with her telling me what all the other kids ate. We had a lot of macaroni and cheese and chicken nuggets. But soon enough, she got sick of having the same foods over and over again and let me off the hook. I'm not exactly a natural at preparing food, with the exception of her favorite snack."

I looked at him, confused. "Are you talking about gelato?"

He laughed. "Let me amend that, her favorite childhood snack. It was a thing she requested when she couldn't sleep or she had a particularly hard day. We called it French toast, although it definitely was not French toast. It was just a piece of white bread with butter on it, and then, I sprinkled white sugar and cinnamon on top. I'd stick it in the oven for a few minutes until it got crunchy on the edges. She loved that stuff. She figured out how to make it herself pretty quickly, but she always told me that I did it the best. She was probably lying about that, but it made me feel good at the time."

The love he had for his little sister was so obvious, and at that moment, I couldn't help but see what Penny saw when she said he was truly a good guy. "That's sweet, Spencer," I told him, genuinely meaning it. "It sounds gross as hell, but it's real sweet." I laughed, and he laughed right along with me.

"Well, it's definitely not any lasagna or homemade fudge."

I gave him an indulgent smile. "Yeah, well, you play your cards right, I might share some of my fudge with you. Although, knowing Ma, she's going to be stuffing you full of food until you can't even walk tomorrow. It's like family law: if there's a new person in the house, you have to attempt to stuff them to the brim."

He chuckled as I slid the now prepared lasagna into the oven and set the timer.

When I turned around, Spencer was watching me, that smile still on his lips and that heat in his eyes again.

I cleared my throat awkwardly, needing to divert his attention away from me before I combusted. "I'll tell you what, it's only right that you should get to try the famous Moretti fudge at least once in your life," I said as I turned to start putting the dishes in the dishwasher. My intention was to put in the dishes and then go take the box out of my bag, but Spencer was already ahead of me.

"Alright, I guess I should feel pretty special that I'm going to get to try some of this," he said as he headed towards the bag, and right before he put his hands on it, I remembered what all else was in there and whirled around.

"No, wait!"

My words spooked him, so when he grabbed the bag, it spilled over, upending the contents all over the kitchen floor. It was a horrible time to find out that I had not secured my makeup bag zipper as well as I thought I had because what appeared like a neon light in the middle of Spencer's pristine kitchen floor was my bright purple vibrator.

We both stilled, me with my mouth hanging open and Spencer's eyes glued to that stupid vibrator.

Voices screamed chaotically inside my head, and I had no idea what to do next. I just wanted to disappear into the walls, I was so mortified.

Finally, something inside me spurred me forward, and I started toward it, reaching my hand out to grab it. "I, um—"

"Wait!" Spencer said in a voice that sounded almost angry. "Don't move." Normally, I would just blow him off, grab my personal pleasure device, and run out of there like the completely horrified individual that I was, but something forced me to stop and actually listen to him.

Slowly, cautiously, my eyes met his, and I was shocked to see not one glimpse of humor, or even secondhand embarrassment in his steely eyes. Instead, that "heat" I'd spied earlier now looked like an inferno. I suppressed a shiver.

Holding my eyes, he moved forward and snatched the toy up, and I started to move towards him, but he put up a hand to stop me.

"This," he spelled out, "this is part of the reason why you wanted to stop at your apartment so badly?"

I fought to come up with a good explanation. "Well, it wasn't the only reason, I mean—"

"Ava," he said, harshly, "this was part of your essentials."

I managed to redeem some of my dignity, telling him haughtily, "That's none of your business, but yes."

He stepped even closer to me until we were almost nose to nose. Looking down into my eyes, he clutched my vibrator in his large hand, his breath coming out in shallow rasps.

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