Page 44 of John Wilder Gets Schooled
“Want to stay for dinner?” I asked him. “I have steaks.”
“Sure,” he said with a smile, and I knew from that we’d be okay. As long as we both remembered we were friends, that would smooth out any awkwardness between us.
Wilder sat up in bed and pulled a face when he glanced downat himself, and his cheeks went pink. “Is it okay if I use your shower again? I have dried jizz all over me.”
“Sorry,” I said, “that’s on me. I should have cleaned us up.”
Wilder grinned. “Nah, it’s on me. Literally.” And then he slid out of bed, all fluid grace and sex appeal, and I got to watch his muscled ass and strong thighs as he sauntered out of the bedroom.
When Wilder was in the shower again, I pulled on my pants and shirt and padded out to the kitchen. I dug around in the refrigerator and put together a salad and then took the steaks out and eyed them doubtfully. My dad had always been king of the grill, so I didn’t have a lot of experience cooking steaks, but how hard could it be? If the pan was on a low heat so they didn’t overcook, it should be fine, right?
The shower cut off, and a few minutes later Wilder wandered into the kitchen wearing his sweatpants and nothing else. I guessed his glittery shirt had been too gross to wear again, and I couldn’t say I minded the view. He came over and looked over my shoulder at the steaks. “Oh wow. Those look amazing.”
“Thanks.”
He eyed the skillet I’d put on top of the stove. “You don’t have a grill?”
“No?” I turned the burner on and lifted one of the steaks with a fork.
Before I could add it to the skillet, Wilder’s hand shot out and he grasped my wrist. “Don’t youdare.”
“What?”
He rolled his eyes and let out a disbelieving noise. “You were gonna take that perfectly good steak and put it in acoldpan? Jesus, Avery. It’s not even seasoned. That’s a fucking crime.” He let go of my wrist to clutch at his chest like he was in physical pain, then hip-checked me out of the way. “Let me.”
I would have been offended except I had no clue what I was doing. I held up my hands in surrender. “Fine. It’s all yours.”
Wilder grinned. “I might not have a fancy degree, but I know my way around a steak.”
I stepped back and watched him work—partly to take notes but mainly because competent Wilder washot. His confident movements as he looked through my cupboards, seasoned the steaks, and put them into the heated skillet with a flourish was really doing it for me. My nerves were sizzling just like those steaks, and it was taking everything in me not to suggest we forget dinner and go back to bed, where Wilder could put those big, strong hands of his to better use.
Friends, I reminded myself.We’re friends having dinner.
I busied myself setting the table in the dining room, and by the time I came back into the kitchen Wilder was plating up the steaks. They smelled amazing, and my mouth watered.
“You like rare, right?” he said.
It felt like a trick question. “Is there another way to eat steak?”
Wilder flashed me a bright smile. “Correct. A gold star for Avery.”
“I’m normally the one who gives out the gold stars,” I said, laughing.
Wilder laughed too and carried the plates through to the dining room. I followed behind with a couple of beers.
I cut into my steak and when I took my first bite, I let out a sound that wouldn’t have been out of place on Pornhub—not that kindergarten teachers looked at porn, obviously.
At least, not that we would admit.
Wilder’s eyebrows flew up and then he grinned at me. “Good?”
“Mmm.” I swallowed and said, “It’s incredible. Thank you.”
“No, thankyou. For, y’know.” His smile turned shy.
“Hand job and nap?” I said brightly.
Wilder laughed, and I was glad he knew I wasn’t mocking him, more laughing at the ridiculousness of having your hand on someone’s dick but not being able to talk about it. “Yeah, that,” he said. “It was pretty great.”
