Chef's Kiss

Ready

Violet

That night after dinner, Nick still hadn't come home and I'd made the boys dinner. It was becoming something of a habit for them to expect me to eat with them, since the night Matt and I had gone to do groceries. I'd never eaten with any of my clients, but I'd also never kissed any of my clients so our relationship was a fucking anomaly apparently. But it was as natural as anything else between us. They welcomed me into the fold and I slipped in like I'd always been there.

The boys went off into their respective rooms after dinner while I cleaned up and started making a cinnamon roll cheesecake recipe I'd been working on for a while. I'd made it countless times and I finally got it just right, and I knew they'd love it. I put on Lord Huron that night on my small speaker and pictured my life as a movie while I baked. I thought about all I'd been through in the past few weeks, the kisses, the secrets, the friendships, the flirting, the fight... What an absolute roller coaster.

I'd heard the water of the shower running in Matt's bathroom as I'd baked and tried to tell my psychotic ass hormones to chill at the thought of what he'd look like heading back to his room, water droplets drying on his shoulders, a towel around his hips and the wet strands of his hair peppered around his blue eyes.

I sighed at that. "Fucking Matt," I'd murmured to myself.

Not long after, the man of the hour walked back into the living room wearing a long sleeve black shirt and grey sweats, his slowly drying hair a neater mess than usual on his pretty head.

"I was wondering," he started, coming into the kitchen and leaning his elbows onto the counter beside me. "Would you wanna hang out after you're done tonight?"

I smiled at the sweetness of him. His confidence around me was growing and I couldn't be happier for it.

"What are we gunna do?" I asked, wondering what he had in mind.

"I was thinking we could watch a movie, eat that cheesecake, just chill," he thought out loud.

"Did you just ask me to Netflix and chill?" I teased him, raising an eyebrow.

"I mean, I wouldn't be against it," he teased back and I rolled my eyes. "But no, I just thought maybe we could actually hang out." I could tell he was being vulnerable, avoiding eye contact as he spoke and trying to seem nonchalant.

"What would Chris say?" I pointed out.

"He'll probably join us, to be honest," he said, and my heart leapt at the prospect of just hanging out on a couch with the two of them. I didn't need to think about it.

"Alright, sure," I smiled. "What should we watch?"

---------

Chris was on the couch first, while dessert was still in the works, throwing himself down and putting on the Celtics game. I wasn't much of a basketball fan.

Even when he was relaxed, in pyjamas or chilling clothes, he still looked incredibly beautiful. He didn't wear a hat that night, which I was grateful for. His messy brown hair curled around his angular face and covered his eyes just enough to make me want to push it away and feel it in my fingers. That thought alone brought on the memory of us on the counter in Maverick's bathroom, him standing between my legs, my arms around his neck, twirling his hair with my fingertips while we kissed and joked and played. My entire body felt the memory, and the butterflies in my stomach were enough to tell me I couldn't wait for the next time he had his hands on me.

He was on his phone for most of the game, but at intermission, he got up and walked over to the kitchen where I was working silently, invested in my recipe. He came to stand beside me, watching what I was doing.