Page 28 of My Brother's Roommate (Frisky Business 2)
His eyes narrow, one dark brow arching toward the stove. “You made homemade pasta sauce?”
“Of course. I couldn’t invite you over for a home-cooked meal and serve you something out of a jar.” I gnaw on my lip, readying myself for his usual biting commentary, but instead, his mouth pulls into an easy smile.
“Damn. You’re fucking cute.”
Holy crap. Never has my heart squeezed so tight as it did at the way he said that, so plain and straightforward, like he was stating a matter of pure fact. The sky is blue, water is wet, and Wolfie Cox thinks I’m fucking cute.
Maybe tonight will go the way I want it to after all.
With plates in hand, I lead Wolfie to the stove to serve himself the sauce. While I watch, he drizzles two big spoonfuls onto his pasta.
“You’ve been hiding the fact you can cook from me. This looks awesome,” he says with a smile.
I grin, then do the same, ladling sauce onto my plate before joining him at the table. We easily fall into comfortable chitchat, discussing something idiotic my brother did at the store today, the conversation naturally shifting toward the topic of work.
“You should’ve seen how busy the store was today.” Wolfie pierces a penne noodle with his fork, shaking his head in disbelief. “I haven’t seen it that packed since we first launched the Joie de Vivre.”
“What’s the Joie de Vivre?”
“Our bestselling couples’ vibrator. Patented design. They fly off the shelves.”
I gulp down the urge to ask him if he’s ever tried it. Or better yet, if he’d like to try it with me.
Easy, Penelope. One thing at a time. He’s not as casual about sex as you are.
“Forget about me, though,” Wolfie says, interrupting my train of thought as he lifts his wineglass. “Congrats again on your big news today.”
Although I’m skeptical about toasting a promotion I haven’t secured yet, I clink my glass against his. “I hope we’re not jinxing it,” I murmur into my wine as I take a sip.
Wolfie scoffs. “No way. Not when Spencer already jinxed it for himself by being the world’s biggest douche.” He pauses to taste his wine, then adds, “That is, assuming he hasn’t surprised us all by pulling his head out of his ass.”
“Oh, rest assured, he has not. In fact, just wait till I tell you what he did today.”
I launch into the story of today’s office nightmare, in which Spencer took full credit for a project I slaved over for weeks. As I dramatically reenact our meeting with David, I worry that I’m rambling, but Wolfie seems interested, nodding along and wincing at all the cringe-worthy parts.
“If that jerk doesn’t get the ax when you get this promotion, I swear,” he mutters once I’ve finished the story. “Sorry you have to deal with this shit.”
“All thanks to nepotism,” I say with a sigh. “There’s a lot David is willing to turn a blind eye to. So we’ll see how things shake out.”
Wolfie’s chin dips in a firm nod. “I look forward to hearing about it.”
“Yeah?” My fork clatters as I set it down on my now empty plate. “You don’t mind me yammering on about work?”
He shakes his head. “I love it. You care about it, and I like listening.” There’s a pause, then he adds under his breath, “Especially to you.”
We lock eyes, and my breathing stalls. Every fiber of my being is urging me to lean over the table and kiss him.
But would that be too much? Or worse yet, would it not be enough? There’s a very real chance that if I kiss him again, I’ll just want more. And I’m not sure he’s ready for that yet.
Before I can make up my mind, Wolfie breaks our gaze, pushing up from his chair. “Can I get started on the dishes?”
I audibly sigh. “Sure.”
Never in my life have I been so disappointed to have a man volunteering to do chores.
We spend the next half hour working in tandem to get the kitchen clean—him washing dishes, me drying them, then both of us finishing what’s left of the rosé. When Wolfie rises from the couch, saying something about it getting late, I know I have no choice but to buck up and broach the subject.
“Before you go . . .”
I reach out to stop him, my fingers brushing against the crook of his elbow. He freezes, pivoting back toward me, but I keep my hand there. I want to touch him. Even if just like this.
“Can we talk about last weekend?”
He swallows hard, his eyes darkening before he averts his gaze. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You know. What happened between us. I just want to be sure you don’t, you know. Have any regrets.”
He’s quiet for too long. I can sense him shrinking away from me, pulling back.
