“Well, at the very least, you should love the person you marry, and more than the way you love a friend. Unfortunately, we don’t feel that way about each other. He’s a great guy, and I love him the same way I love you,” I said to Christine. “But that’s about it. And I’m rather confident he’d agree with me.”
“Agree with what?” Holden’s deep voice filled the room from behind me.
My breathing stalled. Quit. Mid inhale, it just gave up and decided to go on strike. I craned my neck to peer over my shoulder and caught the sight of his devious smirk—the epitome of the cat that ate the canary. Of all his expressions, it had always been on the top of my favorites. But it was special, because he didn’t hand that one out often, and only those close to him got to witness it.
His soft eyes shone, the mossy green turning more steel, while the bursts of brown took over and lit up like gold beneath the sun’s rays. His high cheekbones heated with the tiniest dusting of blush, and that mouth…curved to one side, the top quirked higher to add the illusion of a sneer entwined with his grin. However, no matter how many times I’d seen it before, or how it made me feel, this one was different.
He directed it right at me.
And only me.
Normally, everyone in the room would’ve been rewarded with it, but not this time. While he approached the breakfast bar where I sat perched next to Christine, his fiery gaze and panty-melting grin practically hypnotized me. And as if I were in a movie, everything around me faded into nothingness as he drew closer, almost cautiously.
It made me wonder if he felt the same thing.
A magnetic pull. A need to be close.
He gripped the back of my stool—as well as the back of Christine’s—and peered down at me, almost hovering over me. When he spoke, his husky words danced over my face and brought me back to the present. “What would I agree to?”
“That we’re friends.”
“Yes. I definitely agree with that.”
Other than adjusting her elbow on the counter to lean into it more, Christine didn’t move. She watched us, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see her Machiavellian grin. “I was convinced that after living together for over a month, one of you would be bald. Or on blood pressure medication.” Then she lowered her voice and added, “Or suffering a severe, on-going case of blue balls.”
“Christine!” I locked my stare on her and reprimanded her with a hiss.
Holden dropped his chin, shook his head, and laughed beneath his breath. And somehow, after all that had been said, nothing crippled me as much as his next words when he said, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”
I wanted to smack Christine or run away—or both—but I wasn’t given a chance. Just then, Mom decided to rejoin the conversation. “I wouldn’t have guessed hair loss or blood pressure issues. Maybe diabetes with as much crap as Jelly eats and drinks. Although, my money would be on Holden making her healthier, because he’s such a well-balanced young man.” Her rambling had me rolling my eyes and Holden puffing out his chest in exaggerated pride. Then, when we all thought she was done, she narrowed her questioning gaze at us and inquisitively asked, “But what are blue balls?”
Had I been drinking, liquid would’ve spurted out of my mouth like a sprinkler turning on for the first time all summer. Instead, all three of our mouths dropped open, and you could’ve heard a pin drop with as silent as we all went—considering we probably all stopped breathing and our hearts ceased to beat.
Thankfully, Mom realized it on her own. Her eyes turned abnormally bright and her mouth fell agape. Then she clutched her chest with both hands—which was a sure sign that her response was genuine and not leaning to the side of dramatic. “Oh, never mind. I wasn’t thinking.”
My mom’s reaction must’ve been too much for Holden, because he backed away and made some comment about joining Matthew and my dad outside. And the second he left the room, Christine pointed her know-it-all expression at me.
As if we hadn’t just been taken by surprise by my mother’s gaffe, Christine picked up where we left off prior to Holden’s interruption. “Something has to be going on between you guys. The way he looked at you when he came in here…” She shook her head and fanned her face. “If you didn’t see the way he looked at you like you were about to be his next meal, then you’re utterly blind.”
“Speaking of meals…” My mom leaned over the counter with her arms folded in front of her chest. “You’re at least cooking for the boy, aren’t you? When he comes home after a long day at work, the first thing he needs is a good meal. Please tell me you’re giving that to him. None of that canned food garbage, right?”
“Don’t worry, Mom. Every day when he comes home from work, he has dinner waiting for him at the table. Dinner I made myself. In fact, tonight will be the third time this week we’ve had lasagna—granted, the second time was leftovers.” I only hoped she didn’t keep prodding, because I wasn’t sure how much more I would be able to spin her words around to keep her from knowing the truth.
“You need to give him variety, Jelly. Haven’t I taught you anything? Men like options, and the less you give them on the dinner table, the more they’ll give of themselves in the bedroom. The trick is to keep his mind occupied with food. Spice it up one night, keep it mellow the next. Dress it up with parsley or lay it on thick with gravy. As long as his stomach is full, his taste buds are satisfied, and dessert includes either chocolate or whipped cream, you’ll be good to go.”
“Mom!” Christine and I both shouted at the same time. Christine covered her ears, but I was too taken aback and shocked to move.
“Hold on.” Mom waved us off and went around the bar to the pantry. “I have a couple cookbooks you can use. The trick is to never make the same meal twice, so once you make one, go on to the next.”
Christine adjusted her stool so she faced me. She leaned closer and lowered her voice to say, “Had I known you already made lasagna this week, I would’ve asked for something else. Now I feel bad that Holden has to eat it again.”
“Don’t feel bad. This one might actually taste good, so I’m sure he won’t mind at all.”
She quirked a brow and tilted her chin down to eye me. “How do you mess up lasagna? I honestly don’t think I’ve ever not liked it, no matter who made it. I mean, unless you forget an ingredient or something. Is that what happened?”
“Not quite.” I’d been cooking for Holden for a few weeks now—and by that, I mean more than sandwiches and hot dogs—and not once had I felt ashamed about the dinners I’d offered him. At least, not until this very moment when I knew someone other than myself would find out my secret. “It was one of those family-sized frozen meals.”
“Ran out of time to make dinner? Been there, done that. Although, those are typically the nights I play it off like I did it on purpose and make Matty take me out to eat. He never needs to know I simply forgot to take meat out of the freezer.”
“Yeah…ran out of time. Forgot to thaw meat. We’ll go with that.”