Page 78 of Sex Positive
A few seconds later, as she’s removing the first batch of chocolate chip cookies—twelve perfect mounds evenly spaced on the baking sheet—she hears it again.
She slides the baking sheet onto the stove, tosses the oven mitts on the counter, and crosses the room. When she peers through the peephole, an all too familiar jolt shoots through her.
“Wes?” Startled by his appearance, she blurts out his first name without meaning to.
He grins, breathtaking and too handsome to be fair. “It’sWesnow, is it?” He holds up a large paper bag. “Can I come in?”
She doesn’t move. “What are you doing here?”
“I have food.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not a bomb, Rogers.”
“I didn’t think it was, but the fact you jumped immediately to ‘bomb’ makes me suspicious.”
Muttering something under his breath, he reaches into the bag and rummages through the contents. She takes the time to assess him, her gaze roving over the backward Yankees cap covering his blond locks, his unbuttoned peacoat, the dark gray sweater and jeans.
While not anticipating visitors, let alonehim, she’s acutely aware she’s wearing a pair of fuzzy slipper socks, her most comfortable sweats with a hole in the knee, and an overlarge bright pink T-shirt withThe Wild rueprinted across the chest, her curls half falling out of her bun.
“Here.” He holds out a clear plastic box containing a slice of carrot cake. “I got this for you.”
The buttercream frosting looks light and fluffy, and there’s an intricate bright orange fondant carrot with a bold green stem on top. When she looks at him, something like shyness crosses his face, but she’s certain she’s misinterpreting it. Wesley Quinn is not shy, not around her.
“Is this bribery cake?”
He wiggles the container. “I know it’s your favorite.”
She scowls. It is, and hewouldremember that small fact from so long ago, wouldn’t he?
Silently, she steps aside.
Flashing a pleased smile, he enters her apartment. As he sets the paper bag on her kitchen table and slides the backpack she just noticed off his shoulders, his gaze tracks over her counter, snagging on the baking ingredients before landing on the chocolate chip cookies cooling on the stove. “You bake?”
She shrugs. “Occasionally. When the mood strikes.”
She loves baking, how it fulfills her need for order, the step-by-step rules without deviation. The systematic approach leaves her little room to think of anything else. She woke this morning thinking abouthimand how her body reacts to his touch, how she’s come to crave it.
She tries not to think about this now that he’s unexpectedly standing in her kitchen two weeks after his last text.
Doesn’t matter, she tells herself.
“It smells divine in here.” He tugs off his coat and drapes it over the back of a chair before removing his hat, his hair deliciously rumpled. He then proceeds to unload the rest of the items in his paper bag.
“The store was absolutely mobbed, but that’s to be expected today. I snagged some spring rolls.” He holds up the package. “Dumplings, Tostitos, and—oh!” He pulls out another familiar package. “Pizza rolls.”
Still clutching the carrot cake, Charlie rests a hand on top of the pile of other food, and he pauses his enthusiastic reveal.
“Quinn. It’s New Year’s Eve.”
He pulls out a bottle of prosecco. “Got you covered.”
Charlie peers up at him, taking in the symmetrical lines of his face, the sharp edge of his jaw, the softness in his gaze when he looks at her. Her heart beats in an erratic rhythm.
“Why are you here?”
“I came back early.” He places the prosecco next to the frozen food. “And, as you astutely pointed out, it’s New Year’s Eve, and I knew you were alone.” He shrugs. “I figured we could be alone together.”
