Oh God. Did I just say that?
"He's a really hard worker," I add quickly. Crap. I can't stop blurting out words that sound sexual. Colton was definitely hard. Don't talk about pleasure. Or hands being full. Or anything that might remotely remind you of Colton King naked.
Colton coughs. I think he's laughing but I don't turn around to confirm. I focus instead on intently chopping the pile of green peppers in front of me.
Yes. Focus on the peppers, not on the penises.
"I'm going to cook up some sausage too," his mother says, and I nearly choke. I look up and Colton's eyes meet mine. He covers his mouth with his hand and tries to hide his laughter, but it's unmistakable. "Italian. For the meat sauce. Why are you both staring at me? Are you allergic to sausage, Cassandra?"
The image of Colton stroking his cock flashes into my head and I clear my throat. "Nope," I say, my voice cracking. "Not allergic."
Colton snorts loudly and turns around. I can't hear him laughing, but I can see his shoulders shaking.
"Cassandra, what are you studying?" Doreen asks.
"Sociology," I answer.
"Oh!" Doreen cries out. "You're like the woman who went and lived with the gorillas!"
I laugh. "She was an anthropologist, but lots of sociologists do embedded research, yes."
Doreen clucks her tongue. "You're basically doing that with the football team right now."
“Pardon me?” I ask, my heart racing.
"Are you comparing me and my friends to a pack of gorillas?" Colton interrupts.
Out in the living room, one of the guys whoops loudly, the sound echoing through the house. Then there’s a loud thud. The sound of furniture being moved – or broken – drifts into the kitchen.
“I would never,” Doreen says. “That’s downright insulting… to the gorillas. You’ve got enough material for a case study right in this one.” She points toward Colton with a wooden spatula.
"Aren't you the one who was just trying to sell Cassie on being my girlfriend?" Colton asks, laughing. "Now you’re telling her she should do a case study on me."
I get that nagging pang of guilt again. Colton doesn’t know what my thesis is about, and I should tell him. I remind myself that it’s nowhere near the same thing as a case study. It’s definitely not embedded research. I’m doing nothing wrong.
"Now, where do your people come from, Cassandra?" Doreen's voice breaks through my thoughts.
My people?
"She means your family," Colton clarifies.
"Oh. My parents live in Massachusetts," I say, passing her a cutting board filled with diced up peppers and onions and mushrooms. She gestures toward a bowl, so I slide them in. "Outside of Boston."
"Is that where you grew up?" she asks. "You don’t have even have a lick of an accent. What's that they say? Pahk the cahh?"
I giggle at her Texan imitation of a Boston accent and slip right back into my old one. "It's more like this: It’s not wicked good to pahk your cah in the yad."
"That's funny," Colton mutters.
"Says the guy with the drawl so thick you could cut it with a butter knife," I say, my voice light. "I haven't lived there since I was eighteen. I went to school in Georgia and now I've been in Texas for two years. The accent kind of faded away when I moved to Georgia."
"And what do your parents do?" asks Doreen.
"Ma, stop grilling her," Colton cuts in. "She's not going to give you grandchildren."
"A mother can dream, can't she?" Doreen says, and Colton turns toward me, mouthing I’m so sorry from across the room.
"Don't think I didn't see that, Colton Anderson King. I'm simply engaging in polite conversation."
"Your version of polite conversation and normal people’s versions of polite conversation are not the same thing.”
“I’m not listening to you,” she says back. "Now, how long have you been tutoring him, Cassandra?"
"Almost a month," I answer.
"Almost a month, Colton King." His mother turns to him. "This girl has had to put up with you for almost a month and she hasn't gone running for the hills."
Colton laughs. "You think you're selling her on me?"
"I think by now she's surely figured out what a stubborn ass you can be," his mother reasons. "Haven't you?"
I laugh. What the hell do I say that sounds professional? "Colton can be…difficult."
Colton turns around, his eyes locked on me. "I'm not difficult when I get what I want."
I flush warm and spin right back around, pretending to be super busy chopping vegetables for a salad. "My father is a retired Captain from the Boston Police Department," I say, changing the conversation abruptly, "and my mother is an elementary school teacher. She just retired."
"Oh, well that must be where you got the patience to deal with Colt," Doreen says. "You're genetically predisposed."