Page 14

Chapter fourteen

Cooked

Lorilei

For two nights after rescuing the kitten, I toss and turn for hours before I can finally fall asleep.

I can still feel his strong hands holding me. There was almost a bruise with how firmly he gripped the tender spots on the back of my thighs.

I’m kinda sad the blemish is disappearing. It’s proof to my own mind that I wasn’t dreaming.

I swear, when I stumbled against him, it felt like he was hard pressing into me. But, I’m not sure.

Is that what it even feels like?

Besides being gyrated against by drunk frat boys, my experience with a male crotch is, well, nonexistent.

I haven’t had the time. Or made it.

Now, for the first time, I know I’m missing out.

I’m ready to learn more than what can be found in a biology textbook.

But, is Mason the one to teach me?

It’s wrong to think this way about him. He’s Sophia’s dad .

Old enough to be my father. And what would she think?

She’s my only friend. I’d be ruining that, for what?

The delusion that he wants me?

I’m an idiot.

A stupid girl who’s infatuated with someone who doesn’t feel the same.

I’m almost twenty-three. I should be past the stage of “crushes.”

It’s my imagination that his eyes burn when he watches me. All the horse lessons are because he’s being nice, not because he wants me.

Today, I’m determined to work on making Sophia’s day. She’s the reason I’m here, so she should be my focus.

I think I’m going to try the biscuit recipe of her mom’s that I found. All of the ingredients are here.

How hard can it be?

I’m starting to get the hang of the kitchen, and have a decent repertoire of solid meals. It’s time to branch out.

The yeast part is the only bit I’m worried about. I’ve never used that particular ingredient before.

“Hey, Lori. I’m heading to Scotty’s again tonight, so you don’t have to make extra for me.” Sawyer comes from the hall with his dark wet hair plastered over his forehead.

When he sits at the table to put on his boots, the overwhelming scent of soap and aftershave wafts to me.

“Getting cleaned up for Scotty?” I tease him.

His cheeks flame red. “Um, no. But, last time I was there, his sister was giving me a bunch of shit about smelling like a cow patty. So, I, um…took a shower.” He ruffles his fingers through his slick locks, making it stand in sporadic spikes.

I toss him a smile as I wrestle with a bag of flour from the cabinet. “Well, everyone appreciates that, girls and boys.”

He looks down at his lap and sighs, poking at a hole in his jeans. “Sometimes, I dunno about the ranch thing. Not everyone seems to like it.”

“Work is work.” I’m not sure why I’m giving him advice when I’m not much older than him. “The people who matter will understand how hard it is and how much you do. I love it out here.” My admission sets off a lightbulb in my head.

I really do. The lifestyle, the schedule, the solitude. I’m finding out I enjoy it so much more than the hustle of the campus or the sterile bleached walls of the physical therapist’s office.

This place smells like earth, life and occasionally a muddy Caesar. But, it’s starting to get comfortable.

A twinge hits me. I’m only temporary.

“Yea. You, my dad and maybe Sophia when she doesn’t have a boyfriend. No one else does,” he grumbles.

He stands and stretches before dropping his ball cap at a jaunt over the back of his head. “I gotta go. It’s my turn to pick up Red Bull and Doritos. Tomorrow night is the big tournament, so I’ll probably bring home some frozen pizza since I’ll be up late playing.” He grins as he picks up his bag. “I’m jacked it’s finally here. We’ve been practicing for weeks!”

“I bet you’ll do really well with all of the work you’ve put in.” I don’t see him get this excited when he’s outside helping push the cows around.

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe.” He flashes his teeth in another quick smile before disappearing.

Slipping in my ear buds, I crank some AC/DC and finish gathering all of the ingredients.

Stir. Whisk. Knead.

This is the part that gets me. What does that even mean? Roll it around? Flatten it?

I take a minute to scroll the internet to find a video.

Oh, looks like pressing. What is that noise?

I pause and look around, my heart begins to race, drowning the music.

Holy shit. My hand flies up to my mouth, holding back a squeak, when I catch sight of something that isn’t supposed to be there.

Mason scared the snot out of me.

He’s leaning in the doorway with a crooked smirk as those amber eyes sear into me.

“Hi. Sorry.” I pry one of the headphones out and almost drop it in the flour.

“I was saying—” His baritone sends a shiver into the depths of my belly. “—you look like you’re feeling more at home.”

How does he look so good with his hip cocked and that blue t-shirt hugging him in all the right places? It binds around his flexed biceps from his crossed arms, revealing a thin band of lighter skin that hasn’t seen the sun.

There’s one small spot on the back of my middle knuckle that doesn’t have sticky dough on it, so I use it to turn off the music on my phone. “I am. I’m finally attempting to make these biscuits Sophia is so excited about.”

My chest tightens when I gesture to the handwritten recipe card propped against the backsplash.

The deep rumble of his laugh feels like it comes from inside of me, vibrating my heart off rhythm. “I think if you look at the fine print, you’ll see that the ingredients go in the bowl.”

I can feel my nose scrunch. “I don’t understand, I did put them in the—”

He steps closer.

My lungs stop working as his palm reaches up towards my face.

With the lightest of touches, he skims my cheek with a brush of his calloused thumb.

Flames shoot from his touch and race through my skin, locking me in place.

I want him to do it again.

But, I don’t know how to ask.

“I’d say not all of it.” His fleeting stroke falls to his side, when he steps back. “But, you need more.”

Words.

My tongue is thick and hot.

Breathe.

“Huh?” I exhale.

Classy.

“If you add another scoop of flour, it’ll be easier to knead without sticking.” He reaches past me and I’m enveloped in the warm rich smells of leather and alfalfa.

Sprinkling the smooth powder over my doughy fingers, his dark hat brim dips low enough I can’t see his face.

Mine is probably as bright as a cherry.

“Try that.” His tone is gravely, almost hoarse. Turning, he props his butt against the sink and meets my eyes.

I’m on autopilot, obeying his command.

It makes something inside me quiver when I do what he tells me.

The thickened mix squeezes between my fingers, but all I can focus on is how close he is.

And the heat from his body radiating into me.

“There you go. You’re doing well.” His compliment is better than melted chocolate oozing through me.

I want to do anything he says, in the absolute best way possible.

The dough is getting harder to squish as the ball firms on the counter.

“This is the part I’m not sure about.” I know I’m stammering, trying not to fall to the floor in the fetal position under his melting gaze.

“Kneading?” He makes it sound so…dirty.

My chin bobs in a nod.

Why can’t I talk?

“Just use the heels of your hand, then fold it and repeat.” He shifts so his belly faces the sink, making his belt buckle clink against the stainless steel edge.

When he props his hands on the edge, I can see his knuckles go white from his grip.

Am I doing it wrong?

Smearing makes it tear, but I keep pushing down and out.

“Let me help.” He doesn’t wait before his arms encircle me, his chest presses against my back and his palms cover my hands.

Holy fuck.

My body is erupting in magma.

“Do it like this.” His lips almost touch my ear, sending sparks down my neck that make the tiny hairs stand up in goosebumps.

He presses my knuckles, driving my wrists deeper into the dough.

“Then, fold it.” Scooping the edges up, he moves me like a puppet through the motions of overlapping and then pressing.

But, I can’t pay attention.

His breath tickles against my jaw and his thigh presses against mine as he drives me.

I don’t give.

Instead, I find myself pushing my ass against him, spreading the contact between our bodies.

His frame surrounds me, burning me with each movement as he guides my arms.

Then I sense it.

A hardening bulge is pressing into the small of my back.

He wants me, too.

What do I do? Should I say something? Do I bend over the counter?

Beg him to keep going?

My fingers splay, interlacing with his, surrendering them to his control.

With unexpected speed, a loud knock at the front door makes Mason pull away from me.

He leaves the kitchen without looking back, peeling the remnants of goo from his fingers before he twists the knob.

“Ford.” He sounds out of breath.

I am, too.

My body is locked.

Did that just happen?

Was that real?

“We got word from the north pasture that some men were spotted.” Ford glances over Mason’s shoulder at me, then back to Mason.

My insides are trembling.

Needing to do something with this nervous energy, I start cutting the dough into pieces and making small balls to put in the pan.

It’s kneaded enough.

I don’t want to do it any more without him.

Mason reaches to the hook and grabs his tan Carhartt coat.

There’s a glimpse of the skin of his belly before he slides the heavy jacket down.

He looks back at me. “Save me some for later.”

And then he’s gone.