Page 38 of Puck and Prejudice

Is he comparing me to an eight-legged freak?

“I’m sorry I woke you,” I say.

“No worries.” He notices the milk on the counter. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” I lie automatically, and I don’t even know why. I’m already embarrassed anyway. But my body decides to betray me, and my stomach rumbles.

Jackson chuckles.Chuckles!I didn’t think he was capable of that.

“Fine. I guess Iama little hungry. I also couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d try warm milk.”

“Nonsense, I’ll make you something more substantial than milk.” He turns to the fridge.

“You don’t need to cook for me,” I argue.

“I’m hungry now too.” He takes out eggs, cheese, peppers, and spinach from the fridge. “Do you like omelets?”

“Yeah. Can I help?”

“It’s okay. I work better alone when cooking.” He sets the ingredients on the counter next to the stove, and then grabs a mug from the cupboard and places it next to the milk. “If you still want it.”

“Sure.”

“I have stuff to make hot chocolate if you prefer.”

“I haven’t had that in a long time.”

He tilts his head, and his bangs sweep across his forehead in an adorable way. “Is that a yes?”

I nod perhaps a little too vehemently, and Jackson laughs. “All right. I’ll have one too.”

He grabs all the ingredients for the hot chocolate and sets them next to the stuff for the omelet.

“You don’t want me to make the hot chocolate?” I step closer.

“It tastes better if I do it the traditional way. The microwave ruins it for me.”

I cross my arms. “I can use a stove, you know.”

He looks at me and smirks. “Noted. Next time, I’ll let you cook.”

I arch a brow, ignoring how my pulse accelerates. “Next time?”

Jackson seems to blush, but he looks away quickly, and I can’t confirm that it really happened.

“Well… when Chad and your sister make up, we’re bound to see each other more often. There could an opportunity for you to return the favor.”

Disappoint rushes through me. “Right. Makes sense.”

“Why don’t you take a seat at the table?”

He’s being polite, and I figure he doesn’t want me hovering while he cooks. The kitchen is an open concept with an island in the middle and a breakfast nook that sits four in one of the corners. I suppose when the party is larger, they eat in the dining room. I’m sure Jackson has invited his teammates over.

I watch Jackson work, staring unabashedly because he’s facing the other way. He’s still shirtless and, hell, I’m not going to deny myself the show. His back is corded with muscles, and I wonder what it would be like to run my fingers down the hard ridges of his body. My stomach feels funny, as if I have gremlins living there.

“Are you nervous about the next game?” I ask to distract myself from dangerous thoughts.

“No.”

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