Page 118 of Fraud
LIFE WAS GOOD.
For once, I was happy. You know that incredible, mind-blowing type of happy you really only ever saw in movies? That annoying overly cheerful person who never stopped smiling in that teeth-whitening commercial, making you wonder what could possibly be so damn funny?
That was me.
It had been a few weeks since Killian took residence in my apartment, and although we still needed to get to know each other as far as the whole living-together thing went, we’d definitely risen to the situation.
Or he had.
Several times a day.
I’d never lived with a man other than my father. I’d always figured them to be the gross fraternity types who never cleaned and left their towels and dirty socks on the floor.
Killian was the exact opposite.
Perhaps a little neurotic.
While I spent the day at work, he’d comb the city, looking for work. He’d been pretty flexible on positions, applying for anything even remotely plausible—from random office jobs to a barista job at a local coffee shop.
“I’ve got to start earning my way around here,” he pushed one evening as we were making dinner.
Or rather he was making dinner while I sat around and watched.
I loved watching him cook.
Who knew food could be so sexy?
“It’s really no big deal,” I said, grabbing a handful of grated cheese. “It’s not like you’re racking up a lot of extra charges. And, honestly, since I’ve been buying groceries and eating in almost every night, my food bill has drastically decreased.”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe you survived on takeout before I came along.”
“Not just takeout,” I argued.
“Right. I forgot about the cereal.”
“Cereal is a major food group as far as I’m concerned.”
He grinned, knowing he couldn’t convince me otherwise. “But, seriously, I don’t want it to seem like I’m not contributing. Or that I’m living here out of convenience.”
“Well, it sure has been convenient for me,” I replied, giving my best attempt at a sexy wink.
“You know what I mean,” he said as he stirred the homemade pasta sauce he’d been working on.
“I do,” I answered. “I really do. And I know you’ve been working on it. And, when you do land a job, we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, let’s consider this your contribution, okay?” I said, pointing to the amazing dinner he was preparing.
“So, I’m your live-in chef, is that it?” he asked, taking a step closer.
“Among other things.”
“What kinds of things?” His voice darkened.
“You know.” I laughed.
He grabbed my waist, pulling me closer. The kitchen smelled of basil and garlic. I’d come to recognize the tangy, sweet smell of tomatoes and spices, knowing he was making something special.
Something for me.
“You want to show me?” he asked as the hand around my waist slid lower.
