Page 51 of Hot and Bothered
With a shake of my head, I put the empty container in the sink to wash out for recycling and wrote butter on the shopping list Evan kept posted to the fridge. I took out both the jam and peanut butter from the cupboard, not sure which one Evan would prefer more.
When he came into the kitchen, he was wearing only jeans hanging low on his hips with his hair still a little damp. I took another moment to marvel at his firm chest. I now knew exactly what it felt like to have those muscles under my fingertips.
“I don’t smell any smoke,” he said. “That’s a good sign.”
“The toast was a success,” I said.
“Congratulations,” he said with a grin.
“Unfortunately, we’re out of butter.”
“Better add it to the shopping list,” he said.
“I already did.”
“Great, we can go pick up some groceries later this afternoon.”
It was so domestic. A conversation like any husband and wife might have before breakfast.
Oddly enough, the simplicity of it, the casual way we talked about household needs, made my heart beat faster.
This was what it was like to be in a relationship. Having a grand passion and explosive chemistry was amazing, of course. But it was this, sharing the small moments together, that really cemented it for me.
I wanted Evan to be my happily-ever-after.
After munching on the toast — Evan chose peanut butter, I chose jam — he got out his tablet to work on a piece while I went to go shower and get dressed. We both had to work at the bar that evening and couldn’t just laze around all day.
As I soaped up my body, I found an ever increasing number of sensitive and sore spots, places where Evan’s fingers had dug into my skin and areas where he’d left a trail of bites and nibbles. When I got out of the shower and wiped off the steam-fogged mirror, I was bemused to see the evidence of our passion.
Bemused, and aroused. I couldn’t wait to go for that second round.
Buzzzz.
I glanced over on the bathroom counter and saw Evan’s phone. He must have forgotten it after he got out of the shower.
It buzzed again, then again. Someone was texting him in rapid-fire succession.
I looked at the display to see if it was Mason. Sometimes he texted to ask Evan to come in early.
But it wasn’t Mason. It wasn’t Lizzy either, or Grant.
It was a name I’d never seen or heard before.
Christie.
My heart thumped a heavy beat in my chest.
A girl’s name.
I’d never heard Evan talk about anyone named Christie before, but her name was obviously in his contacts list.
Why was a girl texting Evan?
I stared at the phone. Eventually, it stopped buzzing.
My chest clenched tight.
There was an obvious explanation for this. Maybe Evan had a sister. Or maybe it was just a friend.
