Page 39 of Wanting the Winger

“I feel like baking and cooking.”The idea is just forming in my head.“Maybe we could have Suki and Carter and the whole crew over for dinner this weekend.”

“Great idea.I’ll help.”

“Okay.I’ll invite them.”

I turn to go upstairs, glancing over my shoulder as I walk.Bash is watching me, that look back in his eyes that I can’t quite place.

After he turned me down seven years ago, I never would have thought we’d end up being close friends like this.I’ve always felt like Bash was my friend as an offshoot to being Eric’s friend, but this summer is bringing us a lot closer together.

Some woman is going to be incredibly lucky to snag him one day.And I doubt we’ll ever get time to be such close friends as we are now once that happens.This is my chance for one-on-one time with Bash, and even though I spent years hoping for a romance with him, there’s something solid and right about at least having him as one of my closest friends.

ChapterThirteen

Bash

Lainey talks to her dough.

Actually, she talks to it in all stages.She keeps the starter in a jar in the fridge and knows by smelling it when Dough Goldberg is “happy” or “hungry.”She’s been obsessing over it for two days now, mumbling over fermentation, flour and proofing.

None of it means anything to me, but it’s pretty fucking cute.Alarms sound on her phone every hour—if not more often—and she runs to check on her dough, stretch it and poke it.That dough is getting way more action than I am.

We had a weekend Netflix marathon so she could stay close to the damn dough.I tried to get her to go out, but she refused.Now it’s Sunday afternoon and my kitchen is messier than it’s ever been as we work to make dinner for our friends.

The pasta sauce we made from scratch with tomatoes from the farmers’ market is simmering, a splatter hitting me in the face as I push a button on my phone to answer the call that’s coming in.I put it on speaker since my hands are occupied cooking.

“Hey, Mom.”

“You actually answered.”

I roll my eyes.“Sorry, I was busy the last couple of times you called.”

“I understand.I’m nothing special, just the woman who spent twenty-three hours in labor pushing you out of her vagina.”

Lainey meets my eyes and grins from the other side of the kitchen.

“So how are you, Mom?”

“Good, good.We had the church garage sale yesterday and I worked it from seven a.m.until five p.m.I’m still tired.”

“I’m sure the Lord appreciates your efforts.”

“Sebastian Patrick, don’t joke about the holy father.”

I gather a pile of chopped carrots into my hands and move them from the cutting board into a bowl.Lainey wanted to include every vegetable that exists in this chopped salad, and she’s working on two homemade dressings for it: buttermilk ranch and balsamic vinaigrette.

“Sorry, Ma,” I say perfunctorily.

My parents are devout Catholics.I’m not, but I still go to church with them when I’m home for Easter and Christmas.

“What’s this I hear about Lainey’s fiancé breaking up with her?Is it true?”

I lock eyes with Lainey.She waves her hands and shakes her head, silently telling me not to mention to my mom that she’s here and we’re on speaker.

“Lainey was the one who broke up with him.”

“Good.He has a look about him.I never trusted him.And he’s already been seen out with another woman.Shameless.”

I cringe, wishing Lainey didn’t have to listen to this.

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