Page 30 of Hell House
He turns taking me in with an easy smile, complete with two dimples on either side of his scruffy cheeks.
“That was quiet the performance.” He puts down his spatula and puts his hands on his hips which are covered by an apron that says, ‘Kiss the chef’.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, going to remove the pan of bacon from the oven. He speaks with a hint of an Italian accent that sends my heart fluttering. Damn all these guys for being too cute for my own good.
My stomach lets out a loud rumble, sending heat straight to my face. I clutch at my middle and his dark brown eyes dance with amusement.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“You caught me. It’s Graham, right?” I ask, giving him an embarrassed smile. He nods pushing some buttons on a machine that starts to spit out coffee. “Can I help you with anything? It all smells so good.”
He looks surprised for a moment before flashing me his dimples, “Everything is pretty much done right now, but I’ll keep your offer in mind for the future.”
He divvies up the food onto some plates and a few guys I’m not familiar with straggle in half-awake.
Graham hands me a plate with the most delicious looking frittata I’ve ever seen. If I was the food picture taking kind of person, this is exactly the sort of food I’d have to capture and post. He garnishes the side with some pancetta which I realize I had mistaken for bacon.
“Do you do this every morning?” I ask, taking a bite that makes me let out a throaty moan without my permission.
He shrugs. “I don’t mind.” He pops a bite of frittata into his mouth, and I watch his throat as he swallows.
I realize I’m staring and quickly avert my eyes. I look around trying to decide where I should go and sit down.
I feel Graham’s eyes tracking me as I sit at the bar stools that line the side of the kitchen. I tug at my skirt that has slid up and notice a few of the conversations behind me feel stilted.
I eat in silence, scrolling on my phone looking over my schedule for the day.
“You’re in my spot.” A deep grumble comes from behind me. I know that voice.
I sigh, turning around. “I didn’t see your name on it.”
Lukas glares down at me, he’s shirtless and showing off every inch of his tattooed sculpted chest. It takes everything inside of me, to keep my scowl glued to his piercing green colored eyes.
His nostrils flare, and he looks to be two seconds away from shoving me off the stool.
“Dude, leave her alone.” Graham says, holding out a plate of food.
Lukas shifts his glare over to Graham yanking the plate from him, but Graham just smiles back unfazed. My eyes bounce between the two guys before Lukas finally relents, sitting on the stool directly next to me. He’s so close that his arm brushes mine as he eats. I shift in my chair, but there’s nowhere to go.
I take a breath. Fine if he wants to play this game, I’ll make him regret it.
I shovel the frittata into my mouth, the succulent taste exploding on my tongue. I let out a little noise of satisfaction, crossing my legs as I eat, my skirt hiking up my thighs. I lick my fork for every last piece, working my tongue over the prongs.
I sense Lukas’s eyes on me, and I do my damnedest to ignore him as I take one final bite, fluttering my eyes closed enjoying the sensation of my food melting in my mouth.
I jump off the stool, noting a fire lingering in Lukas’s eyes as he covers his crotch. I smirk with the heady knowledge that I just won the little game he threw down. I take my plate to the sink, and then go over to Graham.
“That was the best breakfast I’ve ever had in my life.” I say truthfully.
He coughs, two little dots of red appear on his cheeks above his adorable dimples. “No problem.”
“Thank you.” I say, leaning in to give him a hug. He stiffens for a moment, surprised, but then wraps his strong tattooed arms around me. I catch Lukas glaring at us, his hands balled up into fists. The roses tattooed on his hands stretching over the clenched skin. I kiss Graham on the cheek, directly on top of his dimple before pulling away. I feel his hand grip tight around my low back at the contact. When we pull apart, he scratches at the back of his neck.
“Maybe you can help me make dinner later.” He says, and I gift him with a wide smile.
“I would love that.” I say truthfully. My Dad and I were on the road so much, I never learned how to cook properly. Other than being proficient at the microwave, I’m useless in the kitchen.
I look at the time, noting I don’t have long before my first class begins.
