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Ollie swallows the last drop and lowers the bottle. “No shit? I didn’t know you were planning to apply there. Have you waitressed before?”
“Only once, but I rocked it.”
He chuckles, and my belly warms when I see the smile spread over his handsome face. He’s sweaty again and wearing a T-shirt with the arms cut out. I get delicious glimpses of his six-pack—which is more of an eight-pack—every time he moves.
He rinses and tosses the plastic bottle into the recycling bin. “That’s great, Mads. When do you start?”
“Hopefully soon,” I answer, sitting on one of two stools at the counter.
I start looking over the application while Ollie removes food from the fridge, and I snag a pen from my purse before throwing it aside.
“You know you don’t have to pay rent while you’re here, right?” he asks.
Ollie never asked me for a dime when he offered his place for the next few weeks. And I’m certain he won’t take any money for rent or bills, especially now that he landed a fat hockey contract. But I can pull my weight in other ways.
“I know … but I want to contribute something.”
“Save your money for next year. You’ll need it. I’m gonna make some eggs. You hungry?” he asks.
“Yeah, I skipped breakfast earlier.” My eyes don’t leave the form as I fill it out with all the basics about myself. “Which reminds me … I need to run to the grocery store later.”
Ollie throws sausage into a skillet and turns the knob until the flame ignites the gas burner. He cracks a few eggs into a bowl and adds milk and seasonings. He starts to whip it with a fork. I rest the tip of the pen in my mouth as I look over at him, my gaze snagging on his form like a fly caught inside a spiderweb. He’s concentrating on his task, so he doesn’t notice me watching, giving me unrestrained access. My eyes literally devour his body while I try not to physically overheat.
Is the air conditioner working?
He reaches into a drawer for a wooden spoon and then walks to the refrigerator. His abs tighten, and his shirt opens when he leans forward to remove a bag of fresh veggies. At this moment, I’m sure there’s nothing hotter than an attractive man preparing food in the kitchen. His perfect forehead is scrunched as he focuses, pulling out a cutting board and washing and dicing vegetables. I can’t pull my eyes away from him.
His gaze suddenly slices to mine and narrows when he catches me staring at him. “What?”
I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Can I use your printer later? They want a copy of my résumé.”
“Sure.”
I stop chewing on the end of the pen, and his eyes follow the movement when I drop it to the counter.
“You’re welcome to use anything you need while you’re here,” he adds, pulling his attention back to the food. “Me casa es su casa.”
My mind goes to naughty places when he says anything, but I keep it to myself.
“Can I borrow your Bronco in a little bit?” I ask when an idea forms in my head.
“Why?”
“I want to wash it as a thank-you for allowing me to stay here for the next few weeks.”
That vehicle is his pride and joy.
“You don’t need to do that, Mads.”
His broad back is facing me as he stirs the sausage. His deltoids are bulging and rounded.
It must’ve been shoulder day in the weight room.
The meat sizzles in the skillet and fills the space with a mouthwatering aroma.
“I want to.”
He gives me a stern look. “No one drives my Bronco but me.”
