Page 24 of Blocked Shot
Ya
Tristan
She obvs wants me. She sat next to me.
Pavel
And me.
Tristan
Nah she’s thirsty for the Flea
Jesse
ur both dead
JAKE
Jake stands at the sink, hands submerged in warm, soapy water as he scrubs the last of the dinner plates. The scent of garlic and herbs lingers in the air, remnants of the meal Nataliecooked for him.
Well, technically, she cooked for Jesse. But in Jake’s mind, every bite was meant for him alone.
He should focus on the dishes, on the swirls of oily red sauce and flakes of parmesan spiralling down the drain, on anything other than the woman sitting in the next room. But his brain is useless, hijacked, every thought circling back to her.
The way her warm brown eyes spark when she laughs—God, he wants to be the reason for that sound every damn day. The sweet, dizzying scent of her perfume still hangs in the air like a trap, soft vanilla and something spiced that makes his gut clench.
She looks beautiful tonight. Unfairly beautiful. Unbutton-his-jeans-without-touching-him beautiful. The kind of beauty that makes a man forget his own damn name and every reason he should keep his hands to himself.
She’s in a little sweater that clings to her chest. Her jeans hug her shapely ass so tight his cock twitches every time she’s near. All he can think about is dragging them down slowly, inch by inch, licking his way down her stomach while she writhes beneath him, whispering his name, begging him to go lower.
She’s all he thinks about lately. And she’s the absolute last person he should be thinking about, especially not the way he’s thinking about her right now.
He tries to shake it off, centering himself on the rhythm of wash, rinse, stack. Meditative, almost. Or it would be—if Tweedledee and Tweedledum weren’t helping.
Pavel is drying a fork like it’s a delicate artifact from a museum, examining it from every angle before giving it the world’s most careful pat with the dish towel. Meanwhile, Jesse’s idea of help involves waving a plate vaguely in Jake’s direction before nearly launching it into orbit. Tristan took one look at the pile of dishes, mumbled something about needing to use the facilities, and vanished faster than free beer at a frat party. The little weasel probably timed his bathroom break to coincide with cleanup duty.
“Jesus,” Jake mutters. “You’re both a bunch of plugs.”
Jesse shrugs, unbothered. “Hey, I’m providing moral support. That’s important too.”
“Yeah? Well, provide it from another room,” Jake snaps, snatching the plate from Jesse before anything breaks.
Jesse and Pavel don’t argue. With a lazy salute, Jesse backs out of the kitchen, with Pavel silently slouching behind him. “Your loss, man. Enjoy dish duty.”
Jake exhales sharply, setting a plate down with more force than necessary. It clatters against the others, but doesn’t break. His jaw tightens. Surely he wasn’t this annoying at eighteen.
“Need some help?”
Her voice startles him. He grips the edge of the sink, steadying himself before turning to face her. Natalie leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, watching him with an expression he can’t quite read.
He shakes his head. “I got it.”
She hesitates, then steps into the kitchen. “It seems like your helpers abandoned you.”
“Sometimes I work better alone,” Jake says.
Natalie presses her lips together, then nods, but she doesn’t leave. She moves closer, reaching for a towel to dry the dishes he’s already washed. For a while, they work in silence. The only sounds are the occasional clink of silverware and the low hum of the refrigerator.
