Page 101 of Whispered Promises

She’s oblivious to my growing hard-on, focused on chewing and swallowing the food in her mouth. The food I’ve cooked and fed her.

Her eyes fall shut as she moans, her wet pink tongue darting out to lick the taste from her lips, and I have to fight the sudden urge to lean in and place my mouth on hers, sharing the taste. As her lids flutter open, they widen at how close I’ve leaned in.

“Verdict?” I croak, my voice tight and gravelly.

“Unreal,” she whispers back, tongue sweeping out again.

Unable to stop myself, I lean in and swipe mine across the same path, catching hers in the process. The salty soy, paired with the tangy notes of the cheese caresses my taste buds, elevating it even higher because amongst it, I can taste her, something that is uniquely Rosy.

“Perfect,” I confirm.

She flushes pink, slides off the stool, and rises onto her tiptoes, hands bracing across my chest as I lean down and meet her lips. The kiss is soft and indulgent as she grants me access to her mouth. Caving into the taste and feel of her, I capture every breath and give her mine in return.

A slight sizzle and pop has me pulling back, and I turn, grabbing the pan off the heat before it can burn.

“Shit, sorry! Apparently, I don’t even need to be the one cooking to ruin it,” Rosy rushes out, her hands flapping nearby, unsure what to do. She really is cute, regardless of what she thinks, and I love having her here with me, watching me prepare food for her.

“It’s not ruined, but it’s ready to be assembled and baked. Can you message Nate and let him know dinner will be ready in half an hour? Max is with him at the gym.”

Pouring the contents into a ceramic dish, I top it with the rolled-out pastry, then egg wash the top before sliding it into the oven alongside the potatoes.

FORTY

MAX

“Want to talk about it yet?” Nate asks, raising the barbell up from the bench he’s lying on. He’d asked me earlier after commenting on my sour face when I’d decided to tag along to his session after work. I ignored the question then.

My shoulders drop. With the adrenaline no longer riding my body, it feels heavy. “Fuck, I don’t know. Not sure I should or whether I should talk to Rosy first.”

He freezes, then inhales deeply. “What happened? She okay?”

What even is the protocol for shit like this? I’m her…friend, and Nate’s her more-than-friend, which feels like a bitter pill to swallow. So can I even talk to him about how her shit-for-brains boss treated her? Is this some sort of boundary I’m crossing, even if I’m just concerned?

Before I can answer, he drives the bar back up and places it on the rack, then sits up and pulls his phone out.

“She messaged. Dinner will be ready in thirty.” Pocketing it, he stands up and turns to me. “She okay?” he repeats.

“Yeah, she’s okay.” At least I hope she is, but it was hard having to leave her workplace when she asked. “I’ll talk to her at dinner.”

He grunts, then lies back down and finishes off his reps with me spotting him.

The delicious scent of dinner hits me as soon as I open our front door, and my mouth waters. I shove off my trainers and rush down the hallway. I round into the open space and abruptly halt. Bry isn’t the surprise—it’s normal to find him in an apron, towel over his shoulder and concentrating on food. Nor is it unusual for Noah to be seated at the kitchen island. It’s Rosy standing beside Bry wearing the cutest striped apron as she helps to dish up dinner.

“You’ve been replaced, Bry. There’s no way you can cook something that smells that good and look as pretty doing it. It’s settled, Rosy’s moving in with us,” I declare. Strictly as a friend only, obviously. Friends can think of other friends as pretty. Girls say that shit to each other all the time. Right? Leaning over the counter beside Noah, I grab a potato.

A sharp sting has me yanking my hand back. “The fuck? How are you always so good at that?”

“You provide me with enough opportunities for practice.” Bry grins, twirling his tea towel, ready to flick it at me a second time if I try again. Rosy laughs, almost dropping the serving, and Bry reaches out a hand to her. “Here, let me finish this, and you can go sit?”

“I’m really no use to you in here at all, am I?”

At her subdued tone, I frown. Has something else happened? Or is she still bruised from how her boss treated her earlier? How do I even bring that up in conversation to ask her?

I follow as she goes to sit at the table, still wearing her cute apron.

“Hey, Rosy? About earlier, is everything⁠—”

“Don’t worry about it,” she rushes to say, offering me a wooden smile that does nothing to reassure me.