Piece of Cake | Ashton Irwin [au]

Twenty-five

Ruth's POV

"Welcome to mi casa," Michael says, extending his arms and showcasing the space that has the exact same layout as my apartment. The only difference between mine and his is the lingering misty scent of fresh cotton air freshener that he probably sprayed in every room before he answered the door.

"I'd be more blown away if it weren't for the fact that our apartments look alike," I tease. "I like the furniture, though. It adds character."

Every piece of wood furniture is stained a different color; the entertainment center black, the kitchen table maple, and the bookshelf console behind the suede couch dark brown—none of them match but it's not distracting to the eye. However, the few scattered dirty clothes and unwashed dishes lying about are. Restraining from cleaning his apartment, I follow him into the kitchen.

"Thanks," he says. "Did Serena find a dress?"

"Magically, yes. And she didn't have to pay an arm and a leg for it even with the wedding date so close. Word of advice: if you ever want to go gambling, take her with you; you'll be guaranteed a jackpot."

He chuckles as he grabs the package of chicken from the refrigerator and lays it on the island. "I'll keep that in mind."

I poke the raw chicken breast covered with a plastic lining. "So how do we bake this?"

"Well, poking it isn't going to do anything," he says. "Take them out of the package and rinse them off."

My eyes flicker between the chicken and Michael. "Yeah...I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"I don't like touching raw meat."

He sighs and rubs his temple. "Do you want to eat?"

"Yes."

"Then touch the damn chicken," he orders and leans against the counter, urging me towards the kitchen sink. "Take your time; I've got all night."

I cringe as I tear the package open and grasp the slimy raw meat, groaning at how slick it feels in my hand as I run it under cool water. "Why is this so thick?" I complain. "I can barely hold it in one hand."

"That's what she said," Michael snickers.

"I'm serious! These breasts are so squishy."

"That's what he said."

"Stop it," I whine.

"Hey, you're the one throwing out innuendos. I'm just taking the opportunities as they come." I roll my eyes and finish rinsing off each piece of chicken. Michael takes a glass baking dish and sprinkles different seasonings along the bottom. Each spice he adds makes my nose itch and I have to scrunch my nose to keep from sneezing.

"How long do I have to keep holding these?" I ask, watching as he grabs another spice bottle from the cabinet and lines the pan heavily with the red grains. "If I'm going to be holding breasts of any kind, I'd rather them be my own."

"Do girls actually do that? Hold their boobs whenever they feel like it?"

"I can't speak for all girls, but sometimes you just have to remind yourself how empowered you are as a woman, and it's fun."

"You're not wrong about it being fun." His eyebrows dance and I can't stop the sputter of laughter that escapes my mouth.

"Perv." I place the chicken onto the pan, leaving space between each piece before washing my hands with an ungodly amount of soap. Before Michael hands me the spices to coat the top of the chicken, I take out my phone and hold it out in front of us, making sure the chicken is in the camera frame. "Smile!" Instead of doing what I ask, Michael leans closer to me, his shoulder brushing against mine and he sticks his tongue out.