Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 125121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Hey, come back!”
I zipped through a boxy, brown kitchen and burst into the den. Hands snagged me around the waist, lifting me off my feet.
“Ha!” I twisted, grabbed his shoulders, and kicked the back of his legs.
We went down.
“Shit!”
Adonis and I collapsed on a huge, furry beanbag chair. I scrambled free and pinned him down, grasping his shoulders. “Weren’t expecting that, were you?”
He blinked at me. “I definitely was not.”
“Lucien taught me a few moves.” There wasn’t a person alive more smug than me. “Perfect for getting a guy to admit I’m right. Do it. Go on. Let’s hear it.”
Adonis blew out a breath. “All right. I will admit—”
“Yeah, you will.”
“—that you made a few valid points—”
“All valid.”
“—about there being a Eurocentric, white male slant to what’s upheld as great literature—”
“Get it out,” I sighed. “Get it all out.”
Adonis fought not to crack up. “—but that’s why we need this generation. We’re challenging the meaning of great writing, and who writes it. A hundred years from now, they’ll be discussing boy wizards and books narrated by Death in a class like ours.”
“See?” Climbing off, I reached out a hand to help him up. “Doesn’t that feel good to get off your chest? In the future, just skip to the part where you admit I’m right.”
Adonis grasped my hand—rising to all five foot eleven of him. Our chests bumped, sharing heat and sprinkles of sand that brushed off him and escaped between the valley of my breasts. I looked down automatically, then up—catching the millisecond before he snapped his head up, jaw clenching tight as if he was lingering on my breasts... and knew I saw.
He quickly dropped my hand. “Let’s grab some food and head back out. Actually, it’s getting late. We should go. Where am I taking you?”
I stomped on my disappointment. I stomped even harder on the deluded thought that my English professor was checking me out—hard. It did both of us no good to read into his comforting me on the beach, or his goofing back when I tickled him. I’m a walking tragedy and Adonis was just being nice. The only thing I should take seriously is his constant and clear attempts to keep distance between us.
“Back to campus,” I replied, following him into the kitchen. The quick glimpse as I ran by didn’t do it justice. Charm leaked out of the wood paneling, gas stove, and little touches of him dotted around the space. A fifty-odd collection of mugs hanging on the wall. Espresso machine. And ravens painted beneath the crown molding. “My guys have been working on a problem for me, and it’s past time I helped them figure it out.”
Adonis crossed to the fridge. “Understood. We’ll eat quickly.”
That wasn’t what I meant, went unsaid.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asked. “Chicken fettucine. Beef and broccoli bowl. Spinach and mushroom pizza. Orange chicken. Santa-Fe taco bowl.”
I snuck around him, peeking past his shoulders. My brows shot up. “Adonis, these are all frozen meals.”
He looked from me to the overstuffed freezer. Dammit, he was even sexy when he was bemused. “Yeah?”
“Is this what you eat every day?” I snorted holding back a laugh. “How do you drive a car like that and shop from the two-dollar dinner section?”
“Hey,” he cried. “I was raised by nannies and private chefs. I never had to cook for myself. Besides, these are quick and easy.”
“And taste terrible,” I finished. “You were raised by fancy chefs and nannies. You hate everything in that fridge.”
He shrugged. “Some of them aren’t so bad.”
“What else do you have? I’ll cook for us.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Sit,” I said, steering him to a stool. “You’re going to love this. At boarding school, we had kitchenettes in the common areas. Couldn’t do much with it because it wasn’t like the nuns let us skip out to the grocery store. But I’d still make little tasty meals from my mom’s survival packages. A girl can only go so long without tater tots, grits, and Tex-Mex.”
I zipped through his kitchen, opening up everything and grabbing ingredients until I had macaroni, spinach, pesto, and parmesan. I knew exactly what I was making.
“You really don’t have to cook. We can grab something on the way.” Adonis said that, but he was looking mighty fascinated by all the ingredients I laid out before him on the island.
“This will taste better. Trust me,” I said. “Want to help? You can thaw the spinach while I get the water boiling.”
For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were boiling, chopping, whisking, and my instructions. Adonis stood over me while I did the final step—draining the pasta and mixing our sauce in.
“Voila.” I placed our bowls on the countertop. “Pesto macaroni and cheese. I made extra so you can have leftovers.”
“Looks good,” he said, circling it. “Smells good.”