Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,29

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Chloe

“Have you ever cracked an egg before?” I ask with a laugh. Brendan is worse in the kitchen than I am.

“Hey, no judgment,” he says, picking half the shell out of the center of his flour bowl. We’re making homemade dough for the tortellini, which means we have to make a bowl out of the flour and put eggs in the center before we mix. Mine’s perfect. It’s like a chemistry experiment—the right proportions in the right order give predictable results. I’m waiting for him to finish his egg bowl before we go on to the next step. We’re following along with a cooking video on his laptop.

His flour bowl collapses on one side as his big fingers attempt to get the shell out. I push the flour back in place quickly and bump him with my hip. “Move over. Let the expert do the work. It takes the precision of a skilled chemist.”

He does a quick backstep and appears at my other side. “What’re ya talking about? Mine looks perfect.” He points to the flour bowl I created, claiming it as his own.

I shake my head, smiling, and carefully pick the big shell out and then pile the slivers of shell remaining inside it. “Do you have two rolling pins?”

“Err…” He twists his lips to the side. “Kinda forgot the rolling pin thing.”

“I’ll go back to my place and see if your neighbors left one.”

I wash my hands, dry them, and head next door, a bounce in my step. My dreary day took a turn into sunny town the moment I joined Brendan. It’s so cozy cooking in his kitchen, rock music playing in the background. He’s so fun and funny. I try not to think about the fact that he didn’t come home last night. He was a little cagey about it, which I’m sure means he spent the night with a woman. I have to be fine with that. Clearly, he’s content to get his physical needs met elsewhere. I’m just his neighbor friend.

Back at my place, I rummage around in the cabinets and find a wooden rolling pin. Just one. I guess most people don’t own two. That’s okay.

Once I’m back at Brendan’s place, I hold it up over my head. “Ta-dah!”

He grins and cups his hands over his mouth. “Victory!”

I laugh and bring it over. “We could take turns with it.”

“I looked up substitutes. We can use a glass bottle too.” He holds up an empty vodka bottle. “I’ll roll with this; you roll with the rolling pin.”

I study him. Did he get drunk in the few minutes I was gone? There’s definitely an alcohol smell in the air. “You didn’t just finish that vodka, did you?”

He staggers around comically, slurring his words, “What maketh ya thay dat?” He bumps into me, sending me flying back into the counter, his arm cushioning my back at the last moment. My breath catches, heat flooding my body at the sudden closeness of the man I’m desperately trying not to lust for. Up close, his eyes are clear. Not drunk.

“Sorry,” he says, easing back from me. “I forgot how light you are.”

I smooth my hair, flustered. “I’m glad you’re sober because it’s harder to work with a drunk person. I’ve seen plenty of staggering drunks in college.”

“I bet.” His voice is rough.

I stare at his broad chest in a black T-shirt, which is at my eye level. He’s got a million pounds of muscle on me. The man is fit from his wide shoulders to his defined abs to his steel ass. I couldn’t help checking out his ass in his faded jeans as he moved around the kitchen earlier. I wish I weren’t so drawn to him.

I blink and shove him out of my way. He lets me. “So what did you do with the vodka?”

He stares at me blankly for a moment before turning to the refrigerator and producing an insulated water bottle. “Vodka’s new home.”

I focus on the bottle instead of the tanned muscular arm holding it. “You should label that. What if you take a swig after a workout? Or Garrett comes back and thinks it’s water?” He told me his younger brother is his roommate when he’s not house-sitting.

“Ha! That would be hilarious. Takes a lot to bring him down.”

I shake my head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly hilarious.”

I give his shoulder a nudge. “Label it.”

He lifts his palms. “With what?”

“I’ll take care of it. I got stuff at my place.” I head toward the door,