Page 103 of Rival for Rent

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

He shifted in the dark and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I love you too.”

23

MASON

Amonth later, summer was in full swing. I’d just finished planting a crape myrtle in Kai’s backyard, which had been completely transformed since the first time I saw it.

In addition to the crape myrtle, I’d planted a banana tree, which was shooting upwards with great gusto, three leaves already unfurled and splayed over the lawn. I’d put in lavender and thyme along the walkway, and bumblebees danced drowsily from flower to fragrant flower. I’d set jasmine and clematis to climbing up the brick walls, and popped in some hibiscus bushes for more color.

A small bench sat in one corner, perfect for sipping coffee or wine, in between two butterfly bushes. Most of the plants would grow even larger over the summer, but the yard was already gorgeous.

Kai stepped outside, looking harried but adorable, and called, “I know you said you trust me to make dinner, but I don’t trust myself. Can you please come in and make sure I’m not going to poison everyone?”

I laughed and dusted my hands off as I headed inside.

He’d been serious about learning to cook, so we’d started with the basics—hard-boiling eggs, cooking pasta, heating up jarred sauce, baking potatoes. Stuff that was hard to mess up. Tonight we had guests coming, and I was confident he could handle it. The recipe I’d left him was foolproof—baked chicken thighs with herbs, roasted broccolini with lemon, olive oil, and pine nuts, and saffron rice on the stove. It all smelled amazing.

I peeked in the oven and gave an approving nod. “Looks good.”

“Yeah, but I think I fucked up the rice,” Kai said.

“It’s impossible to fuck up rice,” I told him. “Let me see.”

He lifted the lid on the pot, and fragrant steam rolled out.

“Look,” he said, frowning. “It’s still all runny.”

“That’s okay. It just needs to cook a little longer so the water can evaporate.”

“But you said it should be done when the timer went off.” He gestured to the kitchen timer I’d bought for him—a black and white cow with a unicorn horn, wings, and a clock in its stomach.

“The timer’s a guideline. It varies depending on how low you set the heat.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, still looking worried.

“Positive,” I said. “What are you so anxious about? You’re acting more nervous tonight than you were about your stalker last month.”

“Well, he only threatened my life. Tonight has the potential to ruin my standing in the eyes of my friends.”

I pulled him into a hug and wrapped my arms around him. My rib had healed enough that I could hold him tight, and I breathed in the warm, herbal scent of his skin. But holding Kai like that was dangerous—my body had a few ideas I couldn’t follow through on with guests arriving any minute.

I stepped back, holding his shoulders—and winced. “Shit.”

“What?” he asked, alarmed. “Did I fuck it up after all?”

“No, I did. I got dirt all over your nice shirt.”

He looked down to see two perfect brown handprints on his shoulders, then spun in a circle trying to see the smears on his back. I’d left my mark all over him.

“Sorry,” I said, but he smiled.

“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll just take my shirt off. Host this dinner half naked.”

“Are you trying to get me to fuck you on the table in front of my sister and Amir?” I asked. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you tempt me like that.”

---