Page 40 of That First Flight

“Oh, you did not,” she gasps. “You realize what you’ve just done right?”

I smirk and shrug a shoulder at the same time she stands up to reach for the flour. “Game on.”

My eyes go wide as I run away from her and round the kitchen island. She chases me around the kitchen with flour between her fingers. Then she does what I least expect her to do. This woman climbs onto the kitchen island and cuts me off on the other side, successfully throwing the flour into my face now.

My hands grip her biceps holding her in place so she can’t escape.

Fuck, I want to kiss her.

Macey doesn’t move away. Instead, she looks up at me with lust-filled eyes. No doubt, she sees the same look in my eyes. My tongue grazes my bottom lip and her eyes track the movement and she doesn’t make a move to break away from my hold.

Her face softens. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

“Anytime. Although I didn’t do much. It was you that did all the work.Youmade it happen,” I say honestly.

She nods, and that’s when she finally steps out of my hold. My body feels coldness creep from not having her close anymore, and I hate it.

Macey Evans is quickly becoming a weakness I'm not sure I can fight off.

I’m going on my third night in a row not being able to fall asleep at a reasonable hour.

Oliver had to go and be the most perfect human when he got home from his trip a couple of days ago. Not only did he make me feel better when I was super emotional over my recipe not working out, but he proceeded to stay awake until an ungodly hour to help me make it perfect.

Just having him in the kitchen with me gave me a sense of comfort that I’ve never felt before. It’s a feeling I’m struggling to deal with because I was never comfortable cooking when I lived with parents for fear of being scrutinized over my decisions and love for food.

I was never comfortable there,period.

I felt like my entire life was spent walking on eggshells, waiting for a bomb to just drop while simultaneously trying to prove that I was a good mom.

Now here I am, on a Friday night curled up in bed while the rain pours against the windows with my laptop in my lap trying to get ready for this interview. I leave the window slightly cracked because there is something so refreshing about the smell of rain.

But I can’t focus on the interview because I can’t stop thinking about the man who’s flipped my world upside down, the man who’s made me feel very unfamiliar feelings in the best way possible.

My roommate, of all people.

When smelling the fresh rain water through the crack in the window doesn’t seem to ease my anxiety, I grab one of my culinary books off the end table and make my way to the kitchen.

After rummaging through the pantry and refrigerator, I settle on a tub of Ben & Jerry’s for a midnight snack.

There’s only one way to eat this kind of ice cream, and it's sitting on the counter with a spoon, enjoying it right from the carton. If you actually scoop it out into a bowl, you’re doing it wrong.

I hear a door creek open from the other side of the living room and nerves spike inside of me.

Was I too loud?

Did I wake him up when the freezer door slammed shut?

Dammit.

My nerves quickly change to desire when I see the man I can’t get out of my head walking into the kitchen in nothing but a pair of black sweatpants hugging the curve of his waist, his chiseled cut abs on full display and his hair going in every which direction like he just woke up.

And is he wearing… glasses? Oh, dear lord. I’ve thought this man was good looking from the moment I laid eyes on him, but nothing beats Oliver right here with the black large frames covering his light blue eyes.

Would it be awkward if I lifted my hand right now to return my jaw back to where it belongs? Or should I just leave it there on the floor? Because oh. My. God.

“Hey, dragonfly,” he says, before throwing me a wink.

I’m done for. I’m a goner.