Page 35 of So This Is War
Foot still squishing the mouse, I say, “It’s a touch small.”
She pops her head back out and says, “It’s free, so it works.” She glances down at my foot, then back up at me, clearly noticing I’m not ready yet to address what’s under my foot. All I have to say is thank fuck I’m wearing shoes. “I assume you want me using this entrance here rather than moving through your apartment.”
“Yeah, that would be preferred.”
“Not a problem.” She sighs. “You ready?”
I squeeze my hands into fists. “I fear what you might hear when I lift my foot.”
“If you’re afraid I might judge you, fear not, I judged you when you said you lotioned your balls.”
I press my fingers to my forehead. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“So how about this. As my first act as your new assistant, I will hold your shoe down while you slip your foot out. Then you can just walk back into your apartment. I’ll take care of the remnants and wash your shoe.”
“Burn,” I say.
“Huh?”
“Burn my shoe. I’ll never be able to wear these again.”
She smirks. “Mouse traps as footwear. I don’t think that ever caught on as a popular fashion choice, so I can understand that.How about I donate them? The death history of the shoe will remain with us, but the shoes can live on.”
“I don’t care what you do with the shoe, but it can’t go back into my closet.”
“Consider it taken care of.”
“Oh,look at all these baking supplies.” She looks through my kitchen cabinets, making herself at home while I remain shaken and stunned from rodent death by the size fourteen shoe incident.I squealed in front of her. I broke the bed. I killed a fucking rodent with my foot.The boys will NEVER hear about that. “What, uh...what’s going on here? Do you like to bake?”
“I do,” I say, trying to forget about the mouse I murdered. “When it strikes me, I like to have the basics on hand.”
“And what do you like to bake the most?”
“Bready items,” I answer.
“Like . . .”
I shrug. “Like a cranberry orange bread or a pastry. Just carbs.”
“Well, maybe if I do a good job as your assistant, you’ll bake me something one day.” She shuts the cabinet door.
Bake something for her? Hell, I would like to bakewith her.
Both of us wearing nothing but aprons.
Me behind her as she sifts flour only to boop her nose with a little bit of it.
We’d chuckle.
I’d get hard.
And then I’d fuck her on the counter.
“Or you don’t have to,” she says. “Don’t want to overstep.”
“Huh?” I ask, being pulled out of my thoughts. “Uh, no, I can bake you something.”
She pats my chest and smirks. “Don’t let me pressure you.” And then she moves into the living room. “Do you have any plants I need to take care of?”
