Page 67 of I Knead You Tonight

He chuckles, and I grin, turning to the pantry.

“Something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

Sully’s sudden appearance startles me, and I drop the box of noodles I’m holding.

“Are you a fucking ninja or something?”

“Sorry.” He gives me a small smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“For not meaning to, you did a damn good job.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Did something happen? You two seem more…snappy than usual, like you’re trying to overcompensate for something. Is it because Winston butted his nose in where it doesn’t belong like he always does, or is it something else?”

I pause, the box I just picked back up beginning to shake in my hand at the thought of admitting out loud that Winston and I kissed, that things aren’t just peachy between us and there’s this added layer of sexual tension.

Is it so palpable that Sully’s now butting his nose into it?

Or is he just curious and trying to bait me into admitting it on my own?

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Drew,” Sully says softly. “But just in case you’re wondering”—his eyes flit to the shaking box—“your silence is speaking volumes.”

“It was a one-off thing,” I confess. “It won’t be happening again.”

“What won’t be happening again?” Wren asks, blazing into the kitchen like she owns the place. “What’d I miss?”

Sully waits for me to say something.

I don’t.

He grins at my best friend. “Drew’s making boxed mac and cheese to go with dinner.”

I blow out a breath, relieved yet incredibly annoyed at the same time.

I despise boxed mac and cheese. It reminds me too much of the times in my life when I had no options for dinner except for the eighteen-cent rectangle of crap I had to survive off of for weeks at a time. It didn’t matter how I dressed it up—hot sauce, barbeque, bologna chunks, stale breadcrumbs—it was still the same shit. Makes me want to vomit just thinking about it.

Besides, I know if I make it, Winston’s going to be the victor of our tiff.

Fucking Sully.

Wren crinkles her nose. “Really? But your homemade mac and cheese is the best.”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter,” I grind out, shooting daggers at Sully.

He just grins, slipping out of the room like he didn’t just stir up a whole bunch of shitandfind out some personal information about me all at once.

Wren rolls up her sleeves and runs her hands under the faucet. She then holds them up like the doctors on TV shows do after they’ve scrubbed in for surgery.

“I’m ready. Put me in, Coach.”

“Actually,” I say, looking around, “I’m pretty much all set for now. I just need to start the”—I gulp—“mac and cheese about eight minutes before the meat is done.”

“Oh.” She frowns, dropping her hands. “Where’s Riker?”

“Napping. During his own party.”

“The audacity!” She gasps, heading for the fridge. She pulls open the big silver doors and grabs two bottles. “Well, while he continues to be a little bum, let’s crack open a beer and gab. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

She slides a drink my way, and I hesitate to grab it.

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