Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
When we finish at the build, I swing by the store and grab some stuff for us to make chicken parmesan. By the time I get back to Dax’s place, Marty’s already showered up. I put the ingredients in the fridge before hopping in the shower, and once I’m done, I head into the kitchen in only my towel.
The apartment is a one-bedroom with an open-design kitchen, so I can see Mart in the living area, chilling on the couch, which we fold out into a bed at night. As he reads a book, I think about how nice it is seeing him enjoy more leisure reading since school let out—not just with his head in a textbook to study.
As I approach him, he peeks up at me.
“Hey, honey,” I say before crouching down and giving him the kiss I’ve earned after a hard day’s work. He rests his hand on my shoulder, and I grit my teeth at the sting of his touch, jerking back. “Well, you weren’t wrong about my shoulders. Put some lotion on after my shower. Hoping that will help.”
“I should have applied more sunscreen sooner.”
“Not sure you can blame yourself for the fact that I wasn’t wearing enough sunscreen. And if you hadn’t been around, it probably would have been even worse.”
“I knew you shouldn’t have been shirtless on that roof.”
“Just ’cause you nailed me down doesn’t mean you can deprive everyone of the view.”
He issues his signature glare. “Deprive everyone of the view? Wow. Aren’t you obnoxious?”
“Clearly, you’re attracted to obnoxious.”
His lips curl upward. He can’t deny it any more than he can deny me. “I guess that is pretty damn clear,” he says.
And now we’re both smiling.
I give him another kiss. We enjoy each other’s tongues for a bit before I pry away, grabbing my duffel bag for some clothes, and as I’m pulling on a pair of jeans, he says, “Okay, so how are we doing this?”
“Not sure. I’m kind of a master chef from meal prepping for football, so I’ve never had to consider making it with anyone else.”
I’m about to put on a shirt when he says, “No, no. You should let your shoulders heal some.”
I see the panic in his expression—as if the mild irritation I might’ve felt when I threw my shirt back on would’ve been too much for a guy who’s been at the bottom of more than a few dogpiles on the field. Although, that worry written all over his face gives me these little tingling sensations at the back of my neck.
“You can admit you want me shirtless when I’m cooking for you,” I joke.
He doesn’t fight his smile this time, and while he follows me into the kitchen, he says, “You know I can’t cook for shit, right?”
“Eh, I figured as much.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Relax. It’s only chicken parmesan. How hard can that be, on a scale of flaccid to what I know that thing can get?” I pat his crotch, earning an eye roll. “You should save those eye rolls for when we get started. Have a feeling there’ll be plenty. So we have the main dish, and I got some stuff for a salad.”
“And we’re making salad? Wow. You have some high expectations for me.”
We get to work. I start slicing up some onion, and Marty cuts up a garlic clove on the other side of the counter. I notice I’m cutting without much thought, but Marty’s precise with his chops.
“That’s really adorable, watching you cut those like you’re gonna get graded after.”
He sneaks me a look.
It’s such a little exchange between us, but it’s the kind of moment I live for with him. Just us being playful, giving hell, but now in a way that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world.
Next, we make the marinara, then sear the chicken in a pan. I direct him on how to brown it just right.
“It’s almost there,” I say, inspecting his work.
“I’m not doing too bad, am I?”
“Not even a little bad. You deserve a kiss for how well you’re doing it.”
He’s grinning ear to ear, and all I can think is what good boyfriend shit this date night is. It’s a moment that allows me to fully appreciate how much I enjoy having him in my life.
“Mom comes back from Europe next week, so I was gonna see if she and Dad wanted to get together.” I slide my hands around his waist and tug him close to my pelvis, rubbing my face against the side of his neck, kissing. “I was thinking that would be a good time to tell them about my new boyfriend.”
He turns to me, his expression too serious for my tastes. “You sure?”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t want you to feel rushed or like you have to because my parents know.”