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“What the hell are you going on about?” she asked, pulling out one of her earbuds, oblivious to the emotional roller coaster I was currently riding.

I hoped to god she hadn’t heard me because I didn’t know if there was anything more embarrassing than trying to explain that I thought she was banging someone in my apartment when all she was doing was foam rolling out her muscles.

I rubbed the back of my neck, pulling my eyes away from her bare legs. “Uh, nothing. I was yelling to see if you were home.” My smile felt too big for my face. The arch in her brow confirmed it looked as guilty as it felt. But before she could question me, I pointed at the knobbed thing, spouting out, “Those things hurt like a bitch, huh? That’s what you were doing in here…alone. Like by yourself…no one else here…”

I’m an idiot.

Ari looked at me like I’d grown a second head as she turned over, propping up on her stomach, her black spandex shorts poking out from under my college tee, the hard foam roller placed under her quad. Of all the positions she could have gotten in, of course she chose the one that looked straight-up pornographic when she moved. With every roll, she sent her hips and ass back, taunting my self-control. She started moving and let out the same moan that had caused all my problems from a moment ago.

I’d like to identify as that foam roller.

My lids fluttered closed. I had to run a hand over my face to try and hide the reaction the sound caused. The only problem? Hearing it with my eyes closed was ten times worse. My brain provided the image of her bent over the couch as I drove into her wet pussy like I had with my fingers back in her office.

“Thatcher?” Her tone kicked me out of my fantasy. “Did you get a concussion during the game or something? Because you’re acting weird.”

“Huh? Concussion? No, I didn’t get one. I’m just tired.”

She was no longer lying on the floor but standing beside me, a yoga mat tucked under her arm. She chuckled, shaking her head.

“So, you’re acting weird for no reason, got it.” She moved past me, tossing the mat into the second bedroom—her bedroom—before moving toward the kitchen. “You hungry? I made you dinner.”

My brows hit my hairline. I hadn’t expected her to say that. Other than my mom, I didn’t think anyone had ever made me dinner before.

“Why?” I winced when the word left my mouth. It sounded so rude, which wasn’t how I’d meant it. But based on the narrowing of her eyes and the slight downward pull of her lips, that was exactly how she’d taken it.

My hands were on her shoulders in two steps, holding her in place before she disappeared into her room.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I’m not sure how many other ways you could have meant why.” The hurt in her tone made my chest ache and my need to explain myself that much more pressing.

I tilted her face to mine. “I’ve never had anyone besides my mom cook for me. I wasn’t sure why you’d want to do something like that for me.”

We locked eyes for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything.

“You’re not the only one who can care for someone, Dalton. Let me take care of you, too.”

She moved away, oblivious that she’d put my heart in a vice grip with her words.

If I didn’t think it would freak her out, I’d ask her to marry me right then and there because my tastebuds had never been as happy as they were shoveling down her food. Leaning back, I patted my stomach—not a brilliant idea given I’d eaten my weight in enchiladas.

“These are the best things I’ve ever eaten in my life. I didn’t realize those were made any other way than a Pyrex dish in the oven.”

I laughed at the look she shot me from where she stood on the other side of the island.

“What are you talking about in the oven? Like to keep them warm?” The confusion on her face made me laugh even harder.

“No, some people cook them in there,” I explained, using my hand to hide my smirk when her confusion morphed into what could only be described as disgust.

“Oh, that’s just…” she shook her head, bringing another forkful to her mouth. “If you think this is good, wait ’til you have my mom’s cooking when we’re in San Jose.”

I froze. Heart beating faster.

“Is that an invitation?”

She stood there, mouth slightly open like the words had slipped out before she could think it through. Disappointment slammed into my chest because, for a moment, I’d thought maybe she’d been serious.

“Don’t worry about it, Sunshine. You can bring me back leftovers.” I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to focus on anything but the look on her face.