Page 20 of The First Kind of Love
Head thrown back, the hollow of her throat bared to the ceiling, her breasts heave with an inhale, and I have half a mind to insert a tiny shred of distance between our bodies. The mattress dips with my weight as Shiloh peels one eye open to peek at me.
“Are we meeting up with everyone else for dinner?” Her voice loses some of its teasing edge, yet I’m still wrapped around her goddamn pinky finger.
“I think everyone’s pretty beat. I don’t imagine Eda would fare well in a restaurant tonight.”
“You’re not tired, are you?” she follows up, straightening her spine and letting her hair swing back over her shoulder in a pendulum-like motion.
I apply a mask of (hopefully believable) indifference,though she’s got my pulse charging like a racehorse. “Not at all.”
A mischievous grin plays on Shiloh’s lips, and I’m ninety-nine percent certain that I’m about to getwaymore than I bargained for on this trip.
“How far do you think the nearest grocery store is?”
7
COMPLIMENTS TO THE CHEF
FULTON
We’re alone. Shiloh and I…are alone. On a date. With each other. In the same room.
Oh. My. God.
This isn’t really happening. I must be dreaming. And not only are we sharing the same nine hundred square feet of the fanciest suite in Cabo, but she’s cooking me dinner.
Me.
Fulton.
The guy who once lived off Top Ramen and Gatorade for an entire semester his sophomore year of college.
If you think simply living life is anxiety-inducing, try going on a date with the person you’ve been obsessed with for four years. Honestly, I never thought I would even manage to bypass the friend zone. But here I am, unscathed, sitting at the table while the most perfect girl in existence places a gargantuan bowl of noodles in front of me.
“I hope you’re hungry. My mom always taught me to make multiple servings, even if you’re only entertaining one guest.”
When her russet eyes flit to me with an inextinguishable sparkle, her nose crinkles slightly from the tug of a smile.
The truth is, the last thing I want right now is food, but I’d eat fucking dirt if she asked me to. I swallow down a tangled clump of nerves, hooking my finger in my shirt’s collar and yanking it from my neck. It’s hot in here. Like, someone-turned-the-heater-up-to-eighty-five-degrees hot. A disgusting layer of sweat is sticking my clothes to my skin.
My first instinct is to dart for the glass of water sitting next to me, but I quickly come to regret that decision when half of it goes down the wrong pipe and results in a horrid myriad of choking sounds.
Shiloh immediately gets up to help me, but I strain to wave her off with a dismissive hand. “I’m…good,” I wheeze, praying that I’ve maintained at least some of my dignity.
She nods, yet I don’t think she’s fully convinced. She serves herself the same portion, a picture of enigmatic beauty with her naturally pink cheeks and ever-present eye crinkles. I could ramble on about how her wispy lashes resemble gossamer-spun webs clinging to dewy blades of grass, or how that invigorating perfume of hers coddles every one of my senses in a sweetened caress. She even went above and beyond to switch from her casual wear into a pastel-blue dress with a sweetheart neckline.
“In my family, food’s a love language. It’s a way to show gratitude,” she explains in that airy cadence of hers that washes over my anxiety, disintegrating its fearmongering form into nothing but forgettable particles of dust.
“Gratitude?” I croak.
“Yeah. I just wanted to thank you for inviting me on this trip. And for covering all the expenses…which Iwillpay you back for.”
“I told you that you don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t take free rides. I pay my own way.”
“No, Shiloh. I meant that you don’t have to do that because Iwantedto treat you,” I reassure her, the cry of my heart and thesecond-guessing and the worry in the back of my head all quieting to a near-silent hum.
When I force myself to tear my eyes away from her (which isn’t easy), I glance down at the Michelin-worthy meal she made for me, and appreciation warms my cheeks. “This looks incredible. Thank you. You didn’t have to cook dinner.”
