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8
EVAN
Ishould have told her I was staying behind to work on some recipes.
Maybe I could have curled up on Warren’s couch and avoided coming home for the first real night of our roommate-ship. Instead, I’m simultaneously tired and buzzing with the need to know more about this woman that I slip up and basically tail her car back to Alana’s old house.
Once we’re in the driveway, both of us slamming our driver-side doors shut at the same time, I realize the error of my ways.
“After you.” I gesture for her to go up the porch first.
The tension between us is awkward and uncomfortable, like we suddenly have no idea how to act around another human being. She unlocks the door with me waiting behind her, trying to ignore the scent of musk and vanilla that still exudes from her, even though she’s been in a hot kitchen all night.
The light over the stove and a lamp in the living room are on, which I can see as I walk into the foyer. My mind tries to keep up with August plopping her things on the bench in the hall, shedding her light coat and hanging it in the closet, then heading for the kitchen table. I’m left looking a little dumbstruck as she bends to remove her shoes.
Exhaustion is usual after a day at the restaurant, or any I’ve worked in, but now I have to consider the other person living here. Typically, I stomp upstairs and sleep like the dead until tomorrow morning, but it feels weird to do that now that I have a roommate.
Especially one as beautiful as this blonde who looks just as bright-eyed and gorgeous as she does fresh off her morning coffee. How does August look so pretty while I feel like a bag of warmed shit?
“I forgot how hard dinner rush is.” She rubs at the soles of her feet, those thin white socks moving around her heel with the motion.
Never before have I found feet sexy, but I guess there is a first time for everything.
“You’re in hospitality, you’ll need to get used to being mobile almost the entire day or night.”
What the fuck is wrong with me? Overnight, I’ve begun shadily criticizing this woman like I’ll never be able to stop. Call it nerves, call it dumbass-boy-on-the-playground syndrome or something, but I can’t help this icy attitude where August is concerned right now. I think hearing my whole family sing her praises at the restaurant tonight just caught me off guard, per usual.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I am used to it. Or I will be, very quickly into whatever position I decide to take. The difference between my chosen job and this one is that I’ll be a relative stranger to anyone coming into my workplace. Tonight, on top of service and bussing, I had to answer sixty-five hundred questions about my whereabouts these past four years. That kind of socialization tires me out more than anything.”
Fuck, I’m a jerk. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry. I get cranky after service a lot, even if it’s a good night. Putting me out there on the floor and making me talk to a bunch of people for hours? I’d be a nightmare.”
August cracks a small smile, and my mood lifts considerably just from that little quirk of her mouth.
Part of me still can’t believe she so easily offered to share this house with me. I mean, it is my sister’s place, and therefore, I should have gotten first dibs, but Warren did not pose it that way. August was the one who agreed to be roommates, throwing the option out, and I’m still a little shocked that we’re here in the first place.
Sure, I’ve had roommates before, mostly other guys who didn’t communicate much, and we both were just in it for the split rent payment. But this is different. Living with a woman? It’s something I’ve never done. Hell, I’ve barely even had a serious girlfriend for more than a few months. I don’t know what it’s like to have a female occupy the same space as me, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’m fucking nervous to do this, even if it’s only for a few weeks.
But hell, anything is better than hearing my parents through the walls, so I’m not leaving.
“Are you hungry?” There I go again, only worrying about food consumption.
But hey, it’s my natural go-to instinct when I feel out of sorts. Make something to eat, feed people, and all will feel right in my world. Plus, she just said she’s cranky, and nothing makes people happy like food. If we’re going to get off on the right roommate foot, the least I can do is use the one skill I have to endear myself.
August shrugs. “Actually, kind of, yeah. I also forgot how much of a ravenous beast I can become after waitressing all night.”
I grin. “I used to have this head chef who would break salt and pepper shakers after service until someone got her a bubble tea from down the street at this all-night Asian market. We learned to have one on standby for directly after the restaurant closed and then another one just in case.”
“Don’t get the bubble tea thing, personally never have, but I understand where she was coming from.” August smirks.
“My favorite meal to make after service might surprise you.” I move to the stove, the place I feel most at home, and start pulling things from the fridge and cabinets.
“Let me guess … some kind of fancy grilled cheese? Or a delicious pasta? Oh, maybe it’s a traditional one and you perfect your own personal pizza?” August’s voice is like the best kind of melody I could hear, and I’ve only just begun listening to it.
Turning to look at her over my shoulder as I heat the frying pan, I quirk an eyebrow. “You think that I, the fourth-generation heir of a pizzeria-owning family, goes home to cook pizza? I’ve had enough dough, sauce, and cheese in my life to make me never want to eat it again.”
Her mouth drops open in a pretty O, and a little gasp comes out. “I could eat the restaurant’s pizza for the rest of my natural-born life.”
“Noted.” My pride puffs out its chest, even though for most of her life, she hasn’t even been eating my Hope Pizza recipes. “But no, not pizza.”
