Awk-Weird (Ice Knights, #2)(21)

Cole’s sharp gaze turned back to Tess. “Why are there purple paw prints everywhere?”

…

About an hour later, Cole put away the mop and moved his comforter—now free from purple paw prints—from the oversize washer to the dryer. That relief at everything being in its place settled in him and his chest finally unclenched just like it always had when he unpacked the last moving box as a kid.

Sense of right restored, he followed the smell of heaven into the kitchen. Tess, who now had on jeans and a lime-green T-shirt from a superhero movie, was in front of the stove, singing off-key and dancing almost on beat along to the music coming out of her phone on the counter.

His gaze wasn’t drawn to her ass immediately. He’d taken a whole two breaths in between walking into the kitchen and looking, which was pretty much a miracle, considering he’d been dreaming about Tess’s ass—and the rest of her—all night. Having her right down the hall while adherent to the no-more-naked-together rule was going to be hell.

Get your shit together, Phillips. You got weddinged, not brain scrambled. She’s in your kitchen, for God’s sake.

Normally, the kitchen was off-limits to anyone but him. This was where he stress baked. He followed each recipe with precision, premeasuring each ingredient into little glass bowls and setting them on the counter in easy reach so he could add them as required.

Not Tess. The open egg carton was on the island. The bread was by the sink. There were spices and a bottle of vanilla spread out willy-nilly around the counters. It made his right nostril twitch, which was not a good look for anyone, let alone the guy whose attention got snagged—again—by Tess’s perfect ass. Oh yeah, because if she turned around right now and saw him doing his best sneers-a-lot asshole face while he eyeballed her butt, she’d definitely bean him with the skillet.

Lucky for him, he managed to avert his attention before Tess turned around.

“I still can’t believe you wouldn’t at least let me mop up,” she said as she flipped a slice of french toast in the pan.

Satan’s favorite fur ball—sans purple paws—was curled up on the window seat. Kahn inched open one eye to glare at Cole before dismissing him with a flick of his tail.

Yeah, right back at you, buddy.

“I have a system to keeping this place clean,” he said.

Tess turned to face him, her eyes big and round behind her glasses. “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t have a service to do that for you?” She made a vague waving gesture at him. “I thought that’s what all rich people did, and especially people like you.” She mumbled something under her breath and fidgeted with the dish towel before saying in an embarrassed half squeak, “You know, a busy professional athlete.”

“You mean spoiled jocks?” he teased.

Tess turned about sixteen shades of red, her gaze going down to her shoes as she seemed to physically shrink in front of him.

Way to go, asshole.

“I don’t need cleaners,” he said, hoping to be able to just push past the uncomfortable moment. “All I need is three hours and forty-two minutes once a week.” Yes, he timed it. Yes, he had a bullet journal to track it. No, he was not going to tell her or anyone else about that. “It’s when I catch up on my podcasts.”

“Which ones do you listen to?” she asked as she took down a pair of plates from a cabinet and set them on the counter.

“Things like Stuff You Should Know.”

“I love that one. The episode on how bar codes work was really cool.” She put a couple of pieces of french toast on a plate along with some mixed berries and turkey bacon. “Want some?” She held out the plate toward him. “It’s my specialty, made with secret ingredients and everything.”

It smelled good—phenomenal really, like cookies in breakfast form—but he had his routine. “Nah, I have—”

“A usual?” She winked at him. “I noticed all the meal-prep containers in the fridge already.”

“Exactly.” He reached into the fridge for the prepacked breakfast he’d prepped the other day but didn’t end up taking them out. The smell got to him. “Is there vanilla in the french toast?”

She held the plate out so it was practically under his nose. “Yes.”

Giving in to temptation, he took the plate and grabbed a fork from the drawer. “So much for keeping your secret ingredient a secret.”

She shrugged and smiled as if he hadn’t broken her recipe code. “Whatever you say.”

He used the side of his fork to cut off a bite and popped the french toast into his mouth. It was an explosion of flavor on his tongue. He inhaled four more bites. The eggs, the vanilla, the hearty thick bread, and something that made his mouth tingle. It was barely noticeable at first, but that undeniable buzzing against his lips continued until he couldn’t ignore it.

“Is there cinnamon in there?” As if he didn’t already know.

“You guessed it!” Tess took a bite of her french toast and closed her eyes in foodie bliss. “Sometimes I put in almond flavoring, but it seemed like a cinnamon kind of morning, don’t you think?”

Heart hammering against his ribs and his jaw starting to feel like ants were marching across it, Cole threw open the cabinet over the sink, grabbed the Benadryl, popped out two tablets from the pack, and dry swallowed them.