Page 19 of Best Things in Life

“Of course I will. Don’t read anything into that little skirmish with Bigs. I have everything under control.”

“I’m not sure if you’re trying to fool me or yourself, but whatever gets you through the night, Cookie.” He walks away, disappearing up the back stairs and leaving me in the kitchen, leaving me with a rapid heartbeat and heaving breaths because he dared to use that old nickname. The back door opens and Majik steps through carrying a canvas shopping bag filled with food. I gather myself because this is too important and go take the bag from her. A part of me wanted to follow Nate up those stairs and if she hadn’t come in, I’m afraid I might have. Because that part wants him and I’m teetering on the edge of falling over that cliff.

Clutching the bag, I bring it to the counter.

“Let’s get started with this show,” I say as if it’s my kitchen. Majik gives me a look and I don’t back down. To my surprise, she nods her approval. That encouragement will need to get me through the meal prep. Though I don’t know what’s going to get me through the actual meal. It’s not Bigs and it can’t be Nate.

I need this to go well. I need for Nate to behave civilly, to respect me and Bigs.

Or maybe I need to stop being so unnerved by him that I can’t even serve him a fucking meal. I know how to cook. I need to do what I do.

I’ll get myself through the meal one way or another.

* * *

Majik and I stand in the doorway to the dining room watching the table full of twelve ravenous athletes. They’re all different sizes, but they’re all in shape and they’re all eating like the Wildbeasts they are.

“How do we know if they’re enjoying the food?” I say to Majik quietly.

“They’ll tell us. After there’s not a crumb left. If they’re eating slop they’ll still eat every drop, but they’ll complain after they’re done. I’ve seen it happen. Especially the seniors. They’ve been spoiled and know good food from less than.”

“This is good,” Bane says from the table, looking in my direction. “What did you do to these meatballs to make them so… fucking good?” He grins and I smile back.

“Secret recipe. Don’t ask me to share it.”

“Now you know why I insisted she come to SPU,” Bigs says. “I knew she would kill it, that it would be the best place for her.” He’s full of pride and I smile, but it doesn’t go deep. He almost sounds as if he deserves the credit for me being here.

“Good call,” Bane says.

“My girl is a fantastic cook, a natural, and I’m going to make sure she gets even better—"

“Hello, I’m right here,” I say, holding onto my cool by a string because he’s talking about me as if I’m not in the room. I flick my eyes at Nate. He meets them and so help me, I see empathy. But he looks away and goes back to eating.

He’s been nothing but cool. Of course he’s sitting as far from Bigs as a guy can get, buffering himself with Bane at his side and three other guys between them on the same side of the table so he doesn’t have to look at him. Bigs gives me a smile and goes on about the dish, continuing to refer to me as his girl instead of using my name. He’s making too big a deal about me being his. Or maybe I’m being too sensitive. Either way, I’m about to explode and open my mouth, but Majik puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Time to clean up,” she says and directs me back to the kitchen. I don’t even bother eating any of the food myself with nerves jumping around in my belly the way they are, so aggravated by Bigs.

The second we finish cleaning up, I hang up my apron and thank Majik for the opportunity.

“Leaving so soon?” she asks. I nod and she nods back.

Communicating with Majik is surprisingly easy considering she’s a woman of so few words. Tonight I’m particularly grateful because I need to get out of here before I have another confrontation with Bigs. Or Nate. I push out the back door and breathe in the fresh air. I want to savor the success of tonight, the accomplishment, but my head is too wound up over Bigs and his possessive attitude. And even more in chaos about Nate and the way he still makes me feel damn him.

Once I’m out here, I’m not sure what to do. So I sit on the stairs of the back deck and breathe in the quiet and the cool air and try to let go of my tension, try to stop the whirling chaos in my head.

“It was an excellent meal, Cookie.” The words come from behind me and brush my skin with their intimacy. I turn and Nate’s standing there larger than life, like the hero of my girlhood dreams, the star hockey player, the stud, the magnificent unselfish lover and, most sadly of all, my best friend—all a whisper from the past.

“What do you want?” There’s more defeat than anger in my voice, in my soul.

“Truthfully? Or is this a rhetorical question?” He sits down next to me in a quick quiet move. I don’t even bother snorting or protesting and instead sigh deeply, exhausted by my emotional turmoil.

“Tell me, Sarina.” His voice is like the dark night, velvety and quiet, and my heart speeds up anticipating whatever he’s going to say next. “Do you ever want to turn back the clock?”

I turn and look at him then, really look at him like I haven’t allowed myself to do since I got here, since I reacted to him so violently, so full of need and want, still. What I see is the same deep dark eyes pooled with caring and longing and sultry promises.

“No.” It’s my automatic response.

“Liar.”