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Jet comes in behind me, takes a look and lets out a wolf whistle. “Are we having food sex?”
What?
“Or guests?” Jet goes on, wandering inside to check the bowl in front of Joel and stealing a piece of apple before Joel swats at him with the apple he’s holding—not the knife, thank God.
“Neither,” Joel mutters and slams the apple on a cutting board, then proceeds to annihilate it with his big-ass knife.
Jet hums and leans back against the wall by the kitchen door, munching on the piece of fruit he stole and wagging his brows at Joel’s ass.
His very pert, muscular ass that’s encased in white briefs, the bow of the navy blue apron hanging right over muscular butt cheeks that could hold a quarter between them easily.
I fan myself. “Do you know what’s going on?”
Joel likes cooking, and he likes feeding us—food, I mean. Okay, other things, too. Anyway, the point is… I can’t remember ever seeing him in such a cooking frenzy. There is a cake cooling on the counter, something else baking in the oven, a pot bubbling on the stove, and a stack of pancakes cooling down on the kitchen table.
Foodgasm! No wonder Jet was talking of food sex.
… which is starting to sound interesting. How would that work? I’m thinking honey and syrup and whipped cream and chocolate…
Maybe it’s the sight of a shirtless, mostly naked Joel that’s getting me in the mood.
How could it not? He’s delicious, even more than the sweets sitting right next to him on the counter. Much more. He’s sculpted of toffee and hard candy, thick muscles shifting in his legs as he steps to the side to grab a baking pan and spreads the chopped apple in it. His biceps bulge as he opens cupboards, looking for something. His dark hair gleams where it curls slightly on the back of his neck, and my fingers itch to twist in the shiny strands.
“He’s stressed,” Jet says, his mouth lifting in a crooked grin. He folds his arms over his chest, and I get caught in his twinkling dark gaze. “The more he cooks, the more stressed he is.”
“Oh.” I glance around the kitchen. “Oh God. This looks bad.”
“Yup.”
“What can we do?”
“Distract him with food sex.”
Instead of asking what he’s stressed about? No matter how much I’d rather jump Joel’s bones and forego any talk, I think talking this out is healthier.
Besides, if he keeps cooking and we end up eating everything, I’ll never manage to get back into my favorite pair of jeans.
“J.” Mindful of the knives and hot pots, I sidle in beside him and slide an arm around his narrow hips. “Why don’t you take a break?”
“I need to finish the apple pie.”
“And I’m sure it won’t finish itself, so I totally get it.” I quickly grab a piece of apple, but Joel seems more interested in watching me eat it than chasing me away. “Nothing will happen to the pie if you leave it alone for five minutes, right?”
He blinks those expressive baby blues like he’s in a trance. “You and Jet are eating all the apple.”
“Apart from that.” I lick the juice from my fingers, and he swallows, hard. He licks his lips, and I draw a deeper breath.
A mistake. He smells heavenly, a mixture of candied sugar from what he’s baking and his spicy male musk.
Holy shit, I’m suddenly dizzy with wanting him. My first instinct is to press myself to his tall, strong body, then maybe push him into a chair and ride him… have the brooding, dark-eyed man standing across the kitchen join us…
I mean, seriously. How’s a girl supposed to think when caught between two hunks like these? Also, I’ve missed Joel today. At least I got to be in Jet’s arms back at the bookstore once or twice, while Joel was home.
Probably why he’s had the time to overthink stuff and bake enough cakes to feed an army.
“We need to talk,” I inform my way-too-sexy boyfriend and drag him away from the counter and the pie, trying to keep my mind on track.
“About what?”
