Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Oh, hey,” Ian said as he turned away from the stove. Sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. His hair was damp and lying flat, his white, expensive-looking button-down stained and soaked through. And his expression…fuck. Fuck! It was this mixture of worry and anger. And so. Much. Guilt.
It sliced through Hollis’s gut like a broadsword.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one because Rowe made a low noise and crossed the kitchen fast. He took the mixing bowl and spoon out of Ian’s hands and set it on top of a covered casserole dish. Framing his hands around Ian’s face, he leaned in and pressed his forehead to the younger man’s. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay?” he whispered.
“I know,” Ian’s voice wobbled and he pressed his fingers to his temple. “I just can’t stand this. Something is there—right there—at the edge of my mind and I can’t remember. It’s driving me crazy.”
Hollis watched Ian’s brown eyes flit away from his friend’s and back over to the wall as if the writing kept calling to him.
“Ian, not that I’m complaining about all this food, but there are only four of us.” Rowe stroked Ian’s hair back and grimaced when his hand came away wet. “Gross. You seriously need a shower.”
“Thanks.” Ian’s tone was wry as he shoved Rowe away. “Be nice or I’ll sweat on you on purpose. And I’ll make Noah hold you down.”
Laughing, Noah leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “Kinky.”
“Seriously, Ian, whatever it is will come to you. Trying to force it won’t help.” Rowe waved at the counters of food. “Or cook it to the surface. Still not complaining, but are we having a Christmas trial run here?”
“I don’t normally make casseroles for Christmas.” Ian’s slightly sheepish gaze landed on Hollis.
Hollis grinned then, happy to see the responding twist in Ian’s lips as he shrugged.
“I was curious enough to give them a try.”
“You made casseroles?” Rowe strode to the counter and started poking around the dishes. “This is a first. Yum. Noodles. Get a wild hair or something?”
“Or something,” Ian muttered as he picked up a covered dish and walked to the refrigerator. He shoved it inside, then started rearranging other shelves.
Hollis was frozen in place. It might be a silly reaction, but knowing that Ian had picked up ingredients for casseroles during his shopping trip the day before, knowing that he’d spent the last couple of hours making dishes he knew Hollis would like…it touched him on a level he wasn’t expecting. He’d never had anyone go out of their way to make unfamiliar recipes for him.
Something in his chest just completely melted.
“I know.” Ian’s expression was chagrined as he must have clued into Hollis’s feelings. “It’s a bit much. But sometimes cooking helps my brain focus better and besides,” he said, pointing to the cake. “Rowe loves chocolate, too.”
Hollis didn’t care who he’d done it for, but he did care about the reasons why. Both the good ones and the bad ones, but it was the bad ones that tore up his gut. Their situation had to be bringing up memories Ian would prefer to forget and add in that he was actively trying to remember things and failing—it was no wonder he’d taken to his favorite activity. He eyed Ian’s sweaty form, noticing for the first time that his shirt was so plastered to his chest, he could see every line of his body. Hollis couldn’t look away.
“Well, I’m ready to feast.” Rowe grabbed a stack of plates down from the cabinet and paused, looking over the counters. “There isn’t an inch of space left in this kitchen. Ian, you really need to find another outlet for stress.”
Ian’s gaze flew to Hollis’s and locked on so hard and fast, Hollis froze. All his blood, which had already been going south, finished the trip fast. His dick filled, making his jeans uncomfortably tight. Luckily, he held his jacket in front of his groin. Still, he was pretty sure everyone in the room knew where his mind had gone. Oh well. He cracked a grin, then shrugged. “I have a suggestion for that stress,” he drawled out, knowing he was laying on the Georgia pretty damn thick.
Ian started to breathe faster, his mouth falling open, his eyes doing that fucking hot hooded thing.
Hollis hadn’t thought the room could get any warmer, but it ratcheted up a few more notches. He dropped his jacket.
“Whoa. Holy shit. We’re out of here,” Noah announced, grabbing his coat off a kitchen chair, and tugging Rowe toward the front door.
“But…I don’t wanna go back out.” Rowe held up the plates. “Food.”
“You’re the one who put the idea in their heads. Let’s give them some privacy.”
He looked at Ian, then Hollis, and his eyes flew open wide. “Yeah, ooookay…” He put the plates back into the cabinet. “Privacy. Right. But hold on.” He looked over the dishes lined up, then lifted the foil on a bowl. He let out a shout of happiness. “Is this that cowboy salad? Fuck yeah.” He grabbed the bowl, a couple of forks, and grinned at Noah, who shook his head.