Page 67 of Playing the Field
One WeekLater
It’snice to have Kyler back in town, but I’m surprised at how much it feels like Hunter and I have developed a rhythm without him. He knows I’m not exactly a morning person, so I appreciate being able to stumble around and drink my coffee in peace before I pull myself together in the bathroom.
And in the evenings, when I don’t work late and Hunter doesn’t have a team dinner, we’ve settled into a friendly routine of sharing cooking and cleanup duties. And then going straight to my room.
“Who got lost in Sicily?” Kyler asks, holding his nose in the air and sniffing the aroma coming from a saucepan on the stove. “That sure smells better than what I ate on my trip to Bali.”
“Seriously? This is sauce from a jar.” Hunter joins us in thekitchen in his customary outfit of barbecue apron over shorts and workout tee. “What are they eating in Bali?”
“Fish, mostly,” Kyler says, going over to investigate the contents of the saucepan. “Actually, the food was awesome. All fresh, caught daily. The surfing is epic. Beaches couldn’t be more gorgeous. I could move there, no prob.”
“Maybe you should.” The words come out before I realize how they sound. “I-I mean, not that I don’t love having you here. I’m so grateful for the place to stay, and I’m not saying you should move to Bali, though it sounds pretty nice?—”
Hunter steps closer to me and puts his long index finger against my lips, effectively shutting me up and making my pulse race. My gaze shoots to Kyler, who is busy tasting the sauce and oblivious to us.
“Okay, I call bullshit. There’s no way this came from a jar,” Kyler says.
Hunter puts up a hand. “Guilty. I knew you’d pester me for the recipe, so I was trying to let you down easy.”
Kyler goes to the fridge, grabs a beer, and offers it to Hunter, who declines. I hold up my glass of sparkling water and orange juice when he looks my way. “Wow, you guys are no fun. Okay, I’ll drink alone.”
Hunter sweeps a leg over a barstool and sits, grazing my thigh along the way. A few butterflies take flight in my chest. “Tell us about the trip.”
I don’t know how he can be so casual with his tiny touches when they knock me off my feet every time. He seems desperate to find any excuse to brush against me while being equally unaffected by it. Meanwhile, I’m trying to keep myself from panting and turning the color of a pomegranate.
Fortunately, Kyler seems as hungry as he is oblivious. He slices off a hunk of baguette and dips it into the small dish of olive oil on the counter. “Hope you made enough for three. I fellasleep on the flight and missed the meals, so not only am I starving but I’m wide awake in time for night.”
“Jet lag’s gonna be brutal,” Hunter says. “With all the travel you do, I’d think you’d know better than to sleep on the plane.”
“Oh, I knew. But my body had other ideas. I was go, go, go the whole time I was there. Client meetings, surf demos, and I met a girl.” His dimples dig in deep when he smiles.
“Okay! Do tell,” Hunter says, motioning for Kyler to slice him some bread.
Kyler shrugs. “Not much to tell. She was fun. Sweet. Twenty-three…”
Hunter hums a Taylor Swift lyric about being that age, while I go all schoolmarm on him.
“I hope you didn’t give her the wrong idea. Does she know you live half a planet away?”
“Of course. And trust me, what I gave her made her very happy. Not saying there’s a future, but at least it’ll give me something to look forward to if I need to go back there.”
“Good for you, man. Great to hear.” Hunter raises his hand for a high five.
“Guys, seriously.” I shake my head, mock-disappointed in their caveman ways.
Hunter checks his phone and goes over to the stove. After turning off the pasta pot, he stirs the sauce and ladles the noodles into the pan, adding some pasta water at the end. He grabs a hunk of Parmesan cheese and shaves a healthy amount over the noodles.
I whisk together vinegar, mustard, lemon juice, and oil. I add a dash of salt and pepper and pour the dressing directly onto the arugula and tomato salad before giving it a toss in the bowl.
After Hunter plates the pasta, he hands the dishes to me. I add a heap of salad and drop a few basil leaves on top of the pasta. Then brush olive oil onto several slices of bread and pop them into the toaster oven.
Kyler watches in amazement as we assemble the dinner on his round kitchen table. “You two have got it down. Impressive.”
“We do,” I say, looking at Hunter. “We’ve got it down.”
Kyler doesn’t notice the looks that pass between us or the tiny touches, but a part of me wants him to notice. A part of me needs my brother to be a part of this, whatever it is.
“Hunter and I are dating,” I blurt. Then I go to the cabinet to search for more olive oil, even though there’s some on the counter.
