Page 39 of A Little Jaded
“Is that a problem?”
“No, it’s…um, I’ve never met a guy who cooks.”
He squeezes the back of his neck, almost looking…shy? My pulse thrums a little faster, but I shove the feeling aside.
“My dad’s the cook in the family and taught me how, along with Fin,” he finally explains.
“That’s…really cool,” I admit.
“Don’t be too impressed. You haven’t tried any of my cooking yet.” He rests his shoulder against the wall. “I bought stuff for lasagna, chicken noodle soup, and steaks with broccoli and mashed potatoes. What sounds good?”
“Uh…” I try to keep my surprise in check, but did he seriously say lasagna? And chicken noodle soup?Andsteak with broccoli and mashed potatoes? Drake couldn’t make toast without burning it. Don’t get me wrong. I was right beside Everett when he purchased the ingredients, but I guess I assumed he’d have me cook for him or something. The fact he’s the one who planned to cook all along? It’s…strange.
Tucking my thumbs into the back pockets of my jeans, I rock back on my heels. “Whatever you feel like cooking sounds great. Can I help with anything?”
“Nah, I’m good.” He pushes himself away from the wall and starts toward the main area, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
“I’m not helpless, you know.” I don’t know why I say it, or maybe I do, but the idea of someone like Everett—someone who seems like he has every single piece of his life exactly where he wants it—waiting on me, and carrying my luggage, and driving me here, and making me dinner, andnotassuming I’d be the one to cook for him tonight. It…it’s messing with me.
He turns around and faces me again. “What?”
“I said I’m not helpless.”
“I never said you were.”
“Yeah, but you look at me like I am.”
He frowns. “When have I?—”
“At the rink when we first met,” I argue. “And at the tattoo shop. And at the party. And when you picked me up on the side of the road.” My tongue darts out, and I lick my bottom lip. “And when I couldn’t make the lock work at my apartment.”
“I stepped in because we’re trying to make this look real to Drake.”
“And your reason for insisting I not help you cook?” I challenge.
“I figured you might want a break.”
“And maybe I feel like I could use a distraction,” I point out. “My house is gone. My car is gone. I am solely relying on you, and now you’re cooking me food? Homemade, yummy food when I’ve been living off cereal and takeout? It’s…I don’t know. I guess you can drop the boyfriend act when we’re alone, okay?”
“Boyfriend act?”
“You said we’re trying to make this look real,” I remind him. “Well, no one’s here to fake it for, so…”
“So you think I’m only offering to cook you a meal because it’s what a good boyfriend would do?”
“Isn’t it, though?” I push, well aware of how crazy I must sound. I’m not mad. I’m…well, I’m confused, dammit. He’s the one who wanted to make it clear none of this is real, not me, so why is he being so…kind? Especially when we both know he isn’t getting anything out of this. Hell, the only reason he’s doing it in the first place is because he owes Reeves a favor. It might be smart for both of us to remember.
Unfortunately, I have a feeling all I’ve done is piss him off, and it makes me feel even smaller. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to make him mad. But it doesn’t matter what I want because I can feel his frustration as he scrubs his hand over his face and drops his arm to his side.
“Hey, Raine?”
My brows crinkle as I wait for him to spit out whatever he’s going to say. When he doesn’t, I give in. “Yes?”
“I’m craving lasagna, which takes a little while to make. Want to help me in the kitchen?”
I know what this is. It’s an olive branch. A terribly veiled but desperately needed olive branch.
Drake never offered olive branches. Hell, pretty sure the asshole didn’t believe in them. The reminder makes me want to cry, but I force it back.