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Euan carries on mixing the butter and sugar, whipping it until it’s light and creamy. I shouldn’t watch the movement of his hand and wrist intently, but I do. I shouldn’t let my imagination run riot, but I do. At this rate, I’m going to have to stand on the other side of the breakfast bar so he can’t see my groin. I’m staving off a hard-on by keeping my breathing slow, even, and calm. How long will that work for? Being alone with Euan was a bad idea. I cannot keep my crush in check around him.

“What next?” he asks.

I’m captivated by the movement of his lips and the crinkles around his eyes as he smiles.

“Cameron?”

“Huh? What?”

“What do we do next?”

“Oh, right.” I shake myself and turn my attention to the recipe book. He could easily have read the next instruction, but I guess he wants to keep me involved in the process, which is super sweet. He’s amazing. “We need to beat”—my voice catches. I’m suddenly hot and sweaty. I clear my throat. “We need to beat the eggs in one at a time.”

“Do you want to do that?”

Do I want to beat—? He’s talking about eggs. Beat the eggs into the mix. One at a time. Not beat him off. Although yes, please, in a heartbeat. Ask me to beat you off, Euan. Please?

“Sure.” I take the bowl, crack one egg into it, pick out a couple of stray pieces of shell, and beat everything together into a less-appealing gooey mess.

I get hotter as I realise Euan is watching me while I work. He helps by cracking the second egg into the bowl.

“You’re good at that,” I whisper.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t get any of the shell in the bowl.”

“Oh. It’s a talent.”

“I bet you have lots of talents.” Shut up, Cameron. My voice sounds weird. Lower than normal. A little husky. Bit by bit, my body and mind are betraying the crush I’ve kept hidden for years. I’ve dreamt about being with him. About kissing him. Heck, I’ve even fantasised about being the one he comes home to. But here? Now? All I want ishim.

He smiles and looks away. He uses his finger to read the next part of the recipe. Am I making him feel uncomfortable? That’s the last thing I want.

“We need to sift the flour in next.” His voice is a little odd too. Stilted.

“You sift, and I’ll stir?”

“Sure.”

He sifts the flour through a sieve slowly while I keep stirring the mixture. Gradually, it looks more appealing again. Not that I have a clue what cake batter is supposed to look like or what the recipe book means by a ‘soft dropping consistency’. I lift the spoon. The gloopy mix drops off the spoon and plops into the bowl. I puff my cheeks out.

“We’re supposed to add a bit of milk and the vanilla essence,” Euan says.

“Go ahead.”

He adds a teaspoon of vanilla essence and slowly pours some milk in while I stir. Every so often, I lift the spoon. He stops adding milk when the batter drips off the spoon in thick splodges. And now all I can think about is something else thick, sticky, and dripping. I shiver and lick my lips.

“It does look good,” Euan says.

His voice brings me back to the moment. “Oh, yeah, it does. Teamwork.” I raise my hand in a high five.

He hesitates, then strikes my palm with his own. “Hopefully, they’ll look even better once they’re baked.”

Between us, we spoon the mixture into the cupcakes. It’s a messy job. We manage to splatter cake mix on the baking trays and ourselves. I want to lick the batter off his fingers and then suck them into my mouth. Oh, fuck, I need a cold shower. I adjust my jeans as surreptitiously as I can.

Euan puts the trays into the oven and sets a timer for fifteen minutes. He smiles. “I guess we’ve got some time spare now. What do you want to do?”

ChapterFour