Chapter Five
Grayson
Tacos? The scent hit me as I walked in the door from the gym on Monday night, and my mouth watered. With Jagger and Josh on a different detail, both working late, it had to be Samantha cooking. Alicia Keys playing on the iPod confirmed the thought. It had been a week since Sam moved in with us, and despite nearly constant contact while I was home, I’d managed to control my reaction to her. I dropped my gym bag on the floor and rounded the corner into the kitchen to tell her I was here.
Damn.
She swayed with the slow beat, stirring the meat sizzling in the pan, and a new hunger took precedence over my stomach. Her khaki shorts—if they could be called that—hugged her ass perfectly, and the white tank top only made her skin look warmer, more kissable.
But something was different… Her hair. It didn’t rest against the tops of her breasts anymore. She’d cut it clear to her chin in a sleek bob that Mia would have called “edgy.”
The most ludicrous vision played itself out in my mind—how easy it would be to slide up behind her, brush her hair away from her cheek, and run my lips along the delicate line of her neck. I shook my head to clear it. “Hey,” I muttered, hoping not to scare her.
She jumped anyway.
“Ooh! Grayson!” She turned, revealing a fitted apron that read Kiss the cook, which was longer than her sorry excuse for shorts. “You’re home!”
The words struck something in me, cracked open a piece of me that I thought I’d fortified a little thicker than that. But she looked like a better meal than the one on the stove, she was happy to see me, and she…she cooked for me. I was defenseless against that combo. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “You cooked?”
“Apparently.” She pointed the spatula up at the cabinet. “Grab the plates, we’re about ready to eat.”
“I always cook.” Wrong thing to say, you moron.
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you complaining?”
I shook my head. Why couldn’t she do something stupid? It was a hell of a lot easier to keep her at arm’s length when she was drunk on a bar. Well, until I’d pulled her into the very arms I was trying to shove her away with. But she’d been ready to topple over, guys ogling right up that tiny skirt, and it was either get her down or start swinging punches.
So naturally I’d climbed up onto the bar like any other rational roommate. Right, because Jagger was climbing up there, too. Roommate, my ass.
“Good. Then get the plates.”
“I should shower first.” I was still soaked in sweat from the gym. Where the hell was this self-consciousness coming from?
Her eyes raked down my frame with a healthy amount of appreciation. “Well, you have about five minutes before dinner starts getting cold.”
Maybe it had to do with me cranking the water temperature all the way to frigid, but I showered even faster than I did at home where I fought for shower time with four sisters. I made it back a minute after Sam’s deadline.
She pulled the shells from the oven as I took down two dishes, keeping my eyes on the cabinet and not the curves of her ass. Holy shit. Eight days with this woman and I was turning into a sex-starved perv. Sister. Treat her like a sister.
Yeah, only problem was I’d never wanted to jump one of my sisters. This attraction had to wear off, right? Sam tucked her hair behind her ear.
“Your hair looks nice,” I said carefully.
She fingered the ends of the strands. “Yeah? I found the only place in Enterprise with an opening. I just…”
“Needed a change?” I supplied.
She raised her eyebrows.
“My mother,” I explained. “She told me if a woman cuts her hair that much, she’s looking for a compliment or a change. I figured you didn’t really need a compliment.”
“I’m going job hunting again in the morning. They all want a college degree, so I haven’t found anything yet, but I haven’t given up. This guy I know told me to get my shit together, so I’ll find something. Anything.” She smiled, and my heart fucking stopped. Dead. Right there in the kitchen.
I remembered to breathe, sucking in air slowly, and gripped the plates. That pounding in my chest, I’d only felt it with one other woman in my life. Well, make that two, now.
“Only two?”
“What?” Was she reading my mind? Was I that obvious?