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I lift my eyes up to the ceiling and take a large breath in and then out, refusing to let one single tear drop past my eyelashes. When I’ve managed to collect myself—minimally—my gaze falls back to where he’s standing.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks carefully.
Heading for one of the cushioned bar stools placed around the kitchen island, I sit down and sink my chin into my open palm. “Not really, no.”
His face softens and a small smile returns. “Okay well …” he says while scratching his head as if thinking. “Are you hungry? I can make you something.”
I’ve been starving for hours. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave my room. I don’t tell him that, instead I repeat, “Ozzy, what are you doing in my kitchen?”
He chuckles, leaning against the sink behind him, crossing his arms in a casual stance. “I’m working this shindig, remember? The rest of the guys are packing up the van, I’m just cleaning up the kitchen.”
I guess it makes sense. I nod, head still perched in my hand, but don’t bother answering.
He tilts his head, one brow raised. “So, princess?”
“What,” I mumble.
“Are you hungry?”
“You don’t need to do that,” I answer flatly.
“Do what?”
“Feed me.”
His tongue swipes over the small scar on his bottom lip, then he pushes that same tongue into his cheek. “What if that’s exactly what Iwantto do?”
I’m suddenly, and all-consumingly, reminded that Iknow first-hand how his tongue feels trailing up the side of my neck. I clear my throat, shifting in my seat, and the cocky glint in his eyes tells me he knows exactly where my mind just went.
“I just meant it’s not your job to cater to me.”
Ozzy bursts out laughing as if what I just said was pure nonsense. “You think I offer to cook for any random girl, minutes before the end of my shift?” His gaze dances over my face. “Just answer the goddamn question, James.” Then his voice drops. “Are. You. Hungry.”
Straightening in my seat, I let my hand drop from where it was cradling my chin. A beat passes while he continues to stare at me. His expression is now soft but serious.
Finally, I slowly nod. “I’m starving, actually.”
Looking relieved, he heads for the fridge. “I hope you’re giving me permission to go through your fridge ‘cause that’s technically against the rules,” he says playfully.
I laugh. “Yeah, of course. Knock yourself out.”
With both hands placed on the open double doors, he turns to look at me and gives me a quick wink. Then, his face falls studious while he takes in the contents of the fridge.
“Quesadilla?” he asks, his head disappearing behind the doors.
My stomach growls at the thought. “Sure.”
“I’ll make them nice and good for you,” he says with a wide grin, eyes sparkling as if genuinely excited to be cooking for me.
I smile back, ignoring the resulting thrill tickling low in my stomach at the sight of him looking like that.
Bringing the ingredients over to the island, he stands facing me.
With his head down, busy grating the cheese, he makes conversation. “So what’s your story outside of Orso, sweetheart?” His eyes flit up to mine. “Why so squirrelly about coming from money?”
I want to lie, to pretend I wasn’t hiding my past just to fit in, but it all feels just too exhausting so I lead with the truth.
“I just didn’t think it mattered anymore.” I shrug. “My father found out I switched majors last year.” I roll my eyes. “Said he would only continue to pay for my tuition if I switched back to economics.”
