I look over at Aiden—who’s sporting the I love to rub my meat apron that DJ got him after he, Caleb, and Justin all saw their tight end helping me cook dinner—and see an unconvincing look of innocence on his face.
When he asked where I was going earlier, I told him I wanted to make some cookies. It was a way to procrastinate from doing homework, which still sits untouched in my backpack on the couch downstairs. I didn’t think he’d follow, much less tie the apron around himself, but he’s been letting me guide him through the recipe like his mom used to do for me.
“I’m not cleaning that up,” I tell him, fighting a smile when I put the bowl down and wipe off the flour remnants from my shirt. It’s impossible to look clean considering it’s pure black with a mostly faded logo on it from some old soda corporation. It was a cheap thrift store find, already broken in with holes, so I guess a little flour won’t kill it.
“We’ll make DJ do it.”
From the other room where said boy is studying with a few of the guys for some sports class they take together, we hear, “No, you won’t, Betty Crocker.”
I laugh and return back to the thick dough, pulling some out with the spoon and grinning at Aiden. “Remember when we used to get into fights about who’d get to lick the spoon?”
He steals the spoon from me and brings it to his mouth. “Don’t act like it was any competition. My mom always let you have it. I think she loved you more than me.”
I grab the wooden utensil back. “Don’t put it in your mouth! I still need to use it to stir in the chocolate chips.”
Another remark comes from the peanut gallery perched in the other room in the form of a “that’s what she said” joke that spawns a fit of laughter among the guys.
I roll my eyes but grin as Aiden snorts at his roommate’s cliché quip. It’s not too far off considering where my mouth usually is every morning if Aiden hasn’t already left for the gym. Seeing his face contort with pleasure as I suck him off is one of my favorite ways to start the day, and it always gets better when he flips me around, spreads my legs and shows me the same kind of attention.
I turn toward the kitchen door. “None of you are getting these cookies if you don’t shut up and study.”
I feel a set of eyes on me. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical considering you’re doing anything in your power not to do schoolwork?”
All I do is shrug and pick up the bag of my favorite chocolate chips from the counter. When I struggle to open them, Aiden takes the bag and gets the job done with those bulging, inked muscles currently on display in the plain white tee he’s wearing.
I grumble, “Show off,” causing him to snicker as I bump him with my shoulder and slowly pour the chips in. “I’m surprised the guys are doing work at all since it’s break.”
“Their professor decided to have an exam first thing after break ends, so they figured they’d get studying in now before they all leave after the game this weekend to head home to see family.”
We haven’t discussed more about Thanksgiving since he brought it up last time, and I’m grateful. It isn’t like I want to avoid the topic completely, but I haven’t figured out how I feel about it. Emily Griffith was the mother I always wanted, and her husband John was the stoic yet supportive father I wanted mine to be like too. But being around them will cause a lot of tension. Would they like me now? Would they see me as a threat to Aiden like everyone else does?
A broad shoulder nudges my arm. “Out of your head, Underwood. You’re doing that nose scrunching thing when you think too hard.”
I relax my face and sigh. “That sucks they have a test when they come back,” I cop out, relieved when he hums out an agreement instead of questioning my thoughts.
I’m surprised when Aiden comes up behind me, putting one hand over mine where it holds the spoon, and the other covering the one that holds the bowl into place. I settle into his back without a second thought, letting him take over stirring the chocolate chips in until they start disappearing into the sugary mixture.
“Why are you helping me anyway?” I ask, voice quiet so we can have a private moment without one of the others commenting. They’re usually respectful anyway, giving us space and only teasing when the moment is right. But sometimes Aiden will shoot them all looks if he and I are together upstairs and his arm hooks around my waist or his hand slides into the back pocket of my jeans as if he’s challenging them to comment.
They never do.
They just accept what is.
So why haven’t I?
His arms tighten around me. “Because baking makes you happy, and I like seeing you that way. And I enjoy spending time with you even when you’re scowling at everyone.”
I go to refute the statement but stop myself knowing my resting bitch face is top notch. All the guys tease me about it. Even Justin admitted he was shocked I was a “cool chick” after getting to know me better because I always looked two seconds away from murdering someone in class.
“You must keep really bad company if I’m the only person you enjoy spending time with,” I tease, twisting to look up at him with a smirk.
He’s already looking down at me. “You do get me off like no other.”
I elbow him as hard as I can, which is still a weak attempt at bodily harm on someone who has like two percent total body fat. “Asshole.”
He chuckles above me, focusing back on the dough we’re working on. “I’m fucking with you, Ivy. Don’t make me say it.”
“Say what?”
I feel his nose nestle against the top of my head, then his lips press against the crown of my skull. “That I like you.”
Thump, thump, thump.
“That I want to see where this goes,” he adds, lips peppering another kiss against me.
Thumpthump, thumpthump.
“That I hope you’ll give me a shot.”
I close my eyes and feel one of his arms hook around me and hug me to him. For the longest time we’re quiet. I’m about to answer him, tell him how much I like spending time with him too even if its downstairs doing homework or listening to sports, when DJ walks into the room.
“Ugh. Get a room.” He winks at us and walks over to the fridge, grabbing an energy drink. “But not before finishing the cookies.”
Aiden is probably glaring at him because DJ smirks and says, “What? Your girl knows how to bake. I plan to take full advantage while she’s around. Oh, don’t give me that look. You know what I mean.” When he turns his focus to me, his eyes roll. “You need to give this guy a break and reassure him he doesn’t need to worry about me stealing you away. I mean, I’m a catch, but I don’t think you can handle me.”
The man embracing me snorts dryly. “I think we both know it’s the other way around, Bridges. Get out of here.”
He never corrects him, or anyone, when they call me his girl.
His.
Girl.
But then again, I don’t either.
When did I stop denying it?
Chapter Twenty-One
Ivy
The sweat covering my palms doesn’t go away even with three passes of them over my denim-clad thighs. My eyes focus on the scenery and speeding cars we pass on the interstate as I listen to the soft sound of music crooning from the speakers of his truck. The distraction is enough to stop focusing on the destination.