“How is that even possible?” Hayden’s eyes pierced me with an intensity I could feel everywhere, but I couldn’t look at him as I continued my explanation. I felt too vulnerable, and the truth was too damning. But I wanted to share it. He’s shared so much with me. It felt important I shared that too.
“My brothers’ friends would barely even look at me, let alone acknowledge my presence in a room. I sort of got it in my head that I was uninteresting…Generic, perhaps. I was content to live in their shadows and take care of things at home. So I just never felt it’d be easy for me to find someone to care about me. And the blokes I did date never had that special spark. I can’t help but think, ‘What is life if you don’t have anyone extraordinary to share your wine gums with?’” I laugh to lighten the tone a bit, but my brain refuses to slow down. “That’s why I was kind of happy to be lumped with Bruce. The little sod has become my best mate and he notices everything I do. He’s around to test my latest food experiment, or pounce on me when I’ve tripped. Bruce Hugs are quite good, really.”
I looked up to see Hayden’s severe expression and immediately wished I could gobble up all the words and stuff them back in my mouth. I swallowed hard when I felt the annoying sting of tears in my eyes. Christ, I wished I could have pulled myself together. I sank my teeth into my lower lip, and did my best to stave away my daft tears. “I was rambling…away with the fairies or something. Ignore me. I make myself sound like a sad, desperate cow. You better get—”
My words were snuffed out by Hayden’s hard and furious lips. He twirled us around so I was up against the wall. He pressed every determined inch of his body to mine with a force that he wanted me to feel everywhere. The kiss was broken all too suddenly when he stopped and murmured against my lips, “Remind me to send a thank you card to your brothers.”
“What on earth do you mean?” I asked, out of breath from his welcomed assault on my blabbing mouth.
“Vi,” Hayden said seriously as he pulled back enough so I could see his whole face, “you are a footballer’s fucking fantasy. The only reason you felt invisible to your brothers’ mates is because they were threatened with bodily harm if any of them ever dared to touch you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed.
“Tell me, was this Pierce twat a guy who knew your brothers? A mate of theirs?”
“No, he was a slimy DJ who worked at a club in Chigwell.” I blanched at my embarrassingly poor taste in men.
He chuckled, “I bet your brothers were big fans.”
“Oh yeah, they’re proper mates now. They go paintballing together every Tuesday,” I giggled against his lips and he kissed the sarcasm right off me. The kiss was on its way to a full on passionate snog, but he tows away suddenly and turned to punch the button on the lift.
“I’ll call you,” he stated softly just as the doors closed on his tortured face.
He left me confused and wondering what in the bloody hell had just happened. But thankfully, the day after he left my flat, he rang to ask if he could pop over after he finished work at C. Designs. One night of him watching me make supper for the two of us turned in to several nights. Sometimes he’d bring over take away. But the nights I cooked were my favourite. I hadn’t realised how much I missed cooking with a warm body around. Bruce apparently wasn’t cutting the mustard as far as cooking buddies go, though he’s got his uses—namely lapping up every one of my spills. It’s like his ears are hard-wired to register the sound of the smallest crumb hitting the floor. Never mind the fact that he trips my feet up at least once every evening as an assurance for an ooey-gooey mess.
Anyway, having Hayden there with those warm grey eyes was an aphrodisiac in and of itself. The sexual tension between us is far more potent than the cooking. We may have exchanged several proper snogs up against my fridge and on my kitchen counter. I may have also straddled him on the barstool at the island a time or two.
But every time things begin to progress between the two of us, he stops it, usually by lightly rubbing my nose and calling me a naughty bunny. I’d probably hate the bunny nose brush routine if he didn’t get that crinkly look around his eyes every time—the kind of look that says he’s trying to conceal a sublimely happy smile. Pretty soon though, I’m going to show him a whole different animal if he doesn’t stop playing so bloody hard to get. I was the one to slow things down between us on the first night. But since then, it’s been him…even insisting on leaving my flat before eleven every night for the safety of his own bed.
Regardless, there’s something so gloriously and beautifully ordinary about having him around while I busy myself in the kitchen. He’d help a bit and we’d laugh. It was nice to have someone to talk to.
One night he asked me, “Don’t you ever cook and drink?”
“What do you mean?” I replied curiously.
“Most proper chefs I know enjoy a glass of wine while they cook.”