Page 94 of The Catch

It's as much as I can do to temper the situation. My best attempt at teasing him.

"Would that impress you?" Saint runs his hands down my naked thighs.

He's locked-in on feeling me up. My offer of food may not be as foolproof as I hoped.

I take a slow breath, this time to calm myself. "Not if the arepas on the grill get burnt."

It doesn't work either. My skin remembers last night, and wants flames igniting my nerve endings again, and a new series of multiple orgasms.

So greedy already. But I'm not the only one, it seems.

"I'll turn it off—" he turns to the stove, only to find nothing there yet.

"Pablo texted," I blurt.

That cools him down. He stares at me for a moment, to finally nod.

"Right." He washes his hands at the sink. "Everything okay?"

Without drying his hands, he takes over shaping the arepas. I wash my hands, set a cast iron pan to warm up, and work on the rest.

"He wants to visit," I say. "I stalled. I told him to give us a warning as we're pretty busy."

"That's true. We are. Things will only get more intense as we get closer to the final game, and with your show on the table as well…"

"I wouldn't want him walking in on us having sex on the couch, you know."

I steal a glance at him. His mouth tilts in a smile.

"As long as I get to fuck you on the couch," he says.

I laugh. "I don't want my brother walking in on me! Or us— ever."

"But do I get to fuck you on the sofa? What about the kitchen island?"

I fake a shocked gasp. "Do you really mean the kitchen island?"

I'm smiling again as I put a few arepas to cook. Like we're talking about what movie we might watch tonight. He continues to work, almost done with the masa, and shaping the last couple pieces of cornmeal bread.

"What I'm hearing is yes on the sofa." A beatific look takes over his face. "And that I'll have to seduce you to let me do things here."

He caresses the stone like it's a cushion and he's inviting me on it.

I hold back a chuckle. "I'm serious. We need to talk about this. What would happen if he shows up out of the blue?"

"I'm serious too." Still, there's no tension visible on him. He puts the last of the arepas on the tray, and washes his hands and the metal bowl in which I prepared the masa. "Pablo doesn't have keys to my place. We'll be fine."

"Okay— fine. But do we even want him to know about last night and the next— little while— whenever this ends? Or do we wait until after so we can pretend nothing happened?"

He studies me closely. "What do you want?"

He leans on the kitchen island, arms crossed now, waiting for my answer. I set up a steel pan to warm up as well, to finish preparing our breakfast.

I shake my head.

"You know, when we met," I say, "Pablo told me you don't do relationships."

"He warned you off me?" His voice is knowing, with a sad despondency to it. "I can see why."