I spot the dark chocolate pistachio bars I made a couple nights ago and pull out the Tupperware. “You like chocolate?”
He laughs. “Is that a real question?”
Rolling my eyes, I push the refrigerator door closed with my foot, pop the top off the container, and slide it across the counter to him. His eyes go wide as he reaches in and picks one up.
“What is this?”
“Chocolate pistachio bars. You’re not allergic to nuts, are you?”
“Nope.” His eyes meet mine. “Are you?”
It sounds like an innocent question, but the gleam in his eye changes its meaning, and I break eye contact quickly.
“No, I’m not.” I reach into the Tupperware and snag a chocolate square for myself, then lean back against the kitchen counter as Dex tries one.
He takes a tentative bite, and his eyes light up. He eats two more in quick order.
“Did you make these?”
I nod, feeling slightly flustered. It’s not often I get to share what I make with someone else; usually it’s just me and Margot. “I like to cook and bake.”
“You can cook for me anytime.”
His words send pleasant heat curling through my belly, and I imagine, just for a moment, what it would be like to be with him, truly. Cooking him meals, spending days with him, crawling into bed together at night.
The thought is too perfect, and I banish it as quickly as it arose.
Dex is not the settling-down type. I need to get that through my head.
He turns from the bar to look into the living room, which is awash in warm afternoon light. I quickly scan the space for anything dirty or out of place, but I gave it such a thorough clean this morning, even the throw pillows are perfectly fluffed.
“Nice place,” he says, his eyes cutting to mine, and I briefly assess whether he’s making fun of me.
Given his level of fame, I imagine he must live in some multimillion-dollar high-rise somewhere. In comparison, my one-bedroom condo must look drab. But he doesn’t smirk or arch a brow or do any of the things I’ve come to expect when he’s playing around, so I take his compliment seriously.
“Thanks. It’s the first place that’s really mine.” My gaze sweeps through the kitchen and living room, and even though it’s just a humble home, I’m proud of it. I’ve worked hard for it.
Dex stands up, his ripped jeans hugging his long legs flatteringly, and meanders into the living room. Starting to feel nervous again, I busy myself with putting the remaining chocolate bars away and wiping down the counter, even though there’s not a crumb or smudge to be found. My hands just need to do something, otherwise they might try to touch him again, like they did last night.
“No fucking way.” Dex’s voice is incredulous.
My gaze darts to him. “What?” Panic flashes through me, but I can’t think of a single embarrassing thing I would’ve left out in the living room.
He bends over to grab something from my TV stand, and when he straightens back up, he’s holding my copy of Legend of Volthorn.
“You do not game,” he says, eyes deadly serious.
I rinse the dishcloth in the sink and hang it over the edge of the basin. “I do,” I say, turning to face him and leaning back against the sink. “Why? You play?”
“Do I fucking play,” he mumbles, shaking his head and grabbing one of the controllers from the PS5’s charging station. “I’m a grand sorcerer.”
My eyes roll of their own volition. “You are not. I’ve still not even reached archmage, so there’s no way you’re a grand sorcerer.”
A beat of silence passes.
Dex is looking at me more closely now, like he’s studying me, trying to ingrain my freckles into his memory. He holds the controller in one tatted hand and regards me through slightly narrowed eyes for long enough that I squirm uncomfortably and glance away.
“What?” I whisper.
He opens his mouth, then shuts it and chuckles to himself. “Nothing.”
Ugh, I hate that—when someone obviously wants to say something but either decides not to or chickens out at the last second, leaving you forever wondering what was on their mind.
“Come on, tell me.” I push away from the sink and take a few steps toward him “What were you going to say?”
His tongue darts out to flick his lip ring, and I try not to think of how his lips felt pressed against mine last night, how his hands felt so at home tangled in my hair.
“People don’t usually surprise me,” he finally says, and when his blue eyes meet mine, they look . . . different. Unguarded.
It makes my heart flutter.
He stares at me for a second longer, then turns and plops onto the couch with Margot. “Come on.” He holds the controller out to me, one sandy brow arching up. “Show me what you’ve got, archmage.”
Despite my nervousness, I step into the living room and take the offered controller. Margot is taking up a much-larger-than-cat-size space on the couch, which leaves a small spot right next to Dex for me.
I sit down, thinking Dex will move over to make me a bit of room, but he stays right where he’s at, and that smirk is back on his mouth now, which tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing and is doing it on purpose.
Not that I should be surprised.
