Page 66 of King of Pain
“Night, roomie,” I tell him, stifling a yawn. “Don’t stay up too late, it’s not that serious.”
I barely make it two steps before I hear a dramatic gasp, followed by an outraged, “Not that serious? I can’t believe you just said that! Go to bed, Sullivan.”
I throw my head back and laugh, pushing my door open. “So, then it’snot‘nothing’, Pacini. Own that shit,” I throw over my shoulder as I step into my room.
Fuck, I think sassy Ant is my new kink.
Dildo Baggins is definitely getting a workout tonight.
The next morning, I wake up to the irresistible scent of something mouthwatering wafting through the apartment.
Rubbing my eyes, I pad out of my room to find Ant hurrying around the kitchen, pans sizzling and counters crowded with ingredients. Little G is lounging nearby, his nose twitching at the smells.
“What is that marvelous smell?” I ask, leaning against the wall at the kitchen entry. I may have thrown on my clingiest pair of gray sweats—with no underwear and no shirt—before coming out here. It’s having its desired effect. Ant’s eyes drink me in, and I see a flash of hunger before he averts them to a spot on the floor.
“Sausage, garlic, onions, and celery for the stuffing,” Ant replies, turning around. “If you’re not making Italian stuffing, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Noted,” I laugh, stepping into the kitchen. I barely manage to bite back a comment about how I wouldn’t mind being stuffed by an Italian. “What can I do to help?”
He glances at me, his face softening into a smile. “Polish the extra wine glasses I picked up and set the table?”
“On it. Coffee first. Does Little G need to go out?” I ask.
“Nope, we already went for a walk as soon as I got up.”
“Wow, you’ve been busy, Beautiful,” I tell him as I pour some coffee. Predictably, he blushes.
I throw on a shirt and Billy Idol’s greatest hits before grabbing the wine glasses and a few cloths to polish them. My eyes keep drifting to Ant as he moves around the kitchen with effortless precision. He’s completely in his element, and honestly, it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.
As I’m polishing the last glass, I catch a whiff of something that smells suspiciously like bacon. I quietly sneak into the kitchen and watch Ant as he stands at the stove, tending to the pan. His athletic bubble butt shakes slightly in the white team sweats he’s wearing, and I can’t resist the urge to touch him. I step up behind him, placing my hands on his hips and resting my chin on his shoulder to peer into the pan.
“Is that bacon? What’s the bacon for?” I ask, my voice low and teasing.
He tenses for a fraction of a second before relaxing, a smile forming on his lips. “You can have some to hold you over when it’s done. I’m using the grease to inject the turkey.”
“Oh my God, that sounds delicious,” I say, stepping back reluctantly. It might just be my imagination, but I swear he was leaning into me. I needed to put some space between us though—before he felt a completely different kind of injector pressingagainst his ass. I swear, there are too many unintentional puns at Thanksgiving. Honestly, I deserve a fucking award for restraint.
As we’re putting the finishing touches on the apartment, I remember I haven’t called Ma yet. “Hey, I’ve got to video call my mom quick and say Happy Thanksgiving,” I tell Ant.
He nods, waving me off. “Go for it.”
I step into the living room and pull up her contact. The screen lights up with her warm and comforting smile. “Happy Thanksgiving, Ma.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, baby. How’s it going today? You miss me yet?”
“Always,” I say, grinning. “But I’ve got good company. Ant’s been cooking like a madman since early this morning. The smells in here have my stomach growling, Ma.”
“Oh, really? Well, isn’t it time I meet this friend of yours,” she says, her eyes twinkling. I’m not even hesitant at this point. I want them to know each other.
“Hold on.” I turn toward the kitchen. “Ant! Come say hi to my mom.”
He pauses, wiping his hands on a dish towel before walking over. As soon as he comes into view, Ma gasps. “Oh my God, look at you. Chance, your friend is gorgeous!”
I snicker, glancing at Ant, whose face has gone completely red. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he, Ma?”
“Okay, now we’re embarrassing him,” she says, laughing. His embarrassment doesn’t last long, though. Ma asks about the meal he’s preparing, and he grabs the phone from my hands and takes her into the kitchen. I take it back—thatis the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. They have at least a fifteen-minute conversation about recipes before I cut them off. By the time we hang up, Ant’s hazel eyes are glittering, and I can’t stop smiling.
It’s now late afternoon and the apartment feels warm and cozy, filled with the delectable aroma of a roasted turkey that’s almost done. There’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find Jen, Butters, and Lexi, all bundled up and carrying various items.
