Page 30 of Logan
“You don’t mind? I don’t want to impose…”
“You’re not imposing,” I assure her, and I’m surprised to find sincerity in my voice. It’s unusual for me—wanting company. Others usually feel like an intrusion, forcing me to feign enjoyment. But with her, I really hope she stays.
“I would love to,” she says, taking a seat and filling herplate eagerly. “I’m pretty hungry. Was about to settle for cornflakes or something, but this looks much better.”
“Cornflakes for dinner?” I can’t hide my amusement.
“I’m not much of a cook,” she admits with a shrug, “and eating alone in restaurants feels odd. Feels like I’m being watched, so I usually avoid it.”
“Cooking is a bit of a hobby for me.”
“Wait, you made this?” She samples a bite, her pleasure in the taste unmistakable as her eyes close and she moans, a sound that goes straight to my cock. “This is amazing.”
“Between this or cornflakes? Not a tough decision,” I joke, deflecting her praise.
“And you don’t have chefs or anything? I’d think you could afford that luxury.”
“At home, yes. But I’m often on the move. Cooking for myself is simpler than finding chefs that meet my standards.”
“So, you cook because it’s easier than hiring someone? I find that hard to believe. Cooking is a skill,” she challenges.
“Alright, you caught me. I genuinely enjoy cooking more than dining out,” I confess.
“You really enjoy it?”
I shrug. “Yes. Is that so odd?”
“Not at all. And I can attest that you’re quite good at it,” she says, sounding impressed. “How’d you pick up the talent?”
I can lie, say something casual and non-binding, but when I look into her eyes, I don’t want to.
“My mom taught me. She had this passion for cooking and always insisted on cooking for the family herself, even though we could have easily had a full-time cook. We had allkinds of help around the house, from housekeepers to drivers, but never a cook.”
I pause to take a bite and chew, letting the memories fill me. “I can still picture her in the kitchen, humming to herself as she moved, the air filled with incredible aromas. I loved being there with her, just soaking it all in, learning by watching and doing.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was,” I acknowledge, the memory bittersweet.
“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t realize…”
“It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”
Sloane nods, momentarily lost in thought, judging by her expression, and then resumes eating. As she attempts to spear a cherry tomato, it rebels, bouncing off her plate and rolling across the table right toward me.
“Oops.” She lunges forward to catch the rogue tomato before it reaches the floor.
I go completely still.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh, no. I–I’m so sorry,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a rapid succession of colors.
Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I say, “Maybe you should... uh… let go of my balls.”
Instantly, she withdraws her hand, which, for a startling few seconds, had been cupping my cock and balls. The blush on her cheeks could rival the hue of the escaped tomato.
“I didn’t mean to...”
I can’t resist lifting an eyebrow. “You weren’t trying to give me a hand job, were you?”
