Page 63 of here

I flip on the lights and make a beeline for the kitchen. “Jackpot.”

“This is breaking and entering.” Naomi hovers in the doorway, arms crossed.

“I have a key.”

“That doesn’t make it legal.”

“It was when you broke into mine.” I open the fridge. “Want to call the cops?”

Vegetables. Salad, cucumber, bell pepper, some imported cheese. I still have some cans of corn, wraps, and mayonnaise. That could work, and I don’t exactly have to cook for that. Baby steps and all.

She steps inside. “You’re still stealing.”

“Borrowing. Besides, he probably doesn’t even know he has food in his fridge.” I start pulling ingredients out. “Before Lil, Sebastian survived on takeout and protein shakes.”

“Like someone else I know.”

“Used to know.” I grab the salad. “I’m turning over a new leaf. Get it? Leaf? Because salad?”

“Awful.” But she’s smiling, really smiling.

“Want to hear my egg puns? They’re egg-cellent.”

“Brandon…”

“I’ve got waffle puns too. Though they’re a bit rough around the edges.”

“Seriously?”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it.” She points at the food. “What are you making?”

“Wraps.” I close the fridge and grab everything. “Let’s go back. Do you mind opening the doors for me?”

Back in my kitchen, I dump Sebastian’s groceries on the counter. “Grab me the mayonnaise from the cabinet, please?”

“Which one?”

“Second from the left.” I slice through a cucumber, my eyes tracking her as she stretches, that dress creeping higher—revealing more of the thighs I had my head between.

The knife slips, nearly taking off my finger. Shit. Focus on the cucumber, not her legs.

“Found it.” She sets the jar next to me. “Need anything else?”

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “The wraps from that cabinet next to it.”

She reaches up again, and I force myself to look at the vegetables. The cucumber’s uneven now. Mom would’ve made me start over.

“Anything else I can do?” Naomi asks.

“Only if you want food poisoning.” I grab a tomato, carefully slicing it into thin rounds. “Last time you ‘helped,’ we almost burned down the dorm kitchen.”

“That was your fault.” She leans against the counter, close enough that her perfume mingles with the fresh vegetables. “Who leaves oil unattended?”

“Who distracts the chef?”

She was drunk and started undressing after making me promise to cook her the vodka pasta. Luckily, no one else was around, and I was able to throw my jacket over her, much to the expense of the burning pan.

---