Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,30

relieved to put some space between us.

“If you keep strutting back to your place, we’re never gonna get this pasta into shape.”

I nearly stumble. I slowly turn back to him. “Sorry, strutting?”

“Yeah, the Chloe walk.” He executes a bouncy step, throwing in a few hip swivels as he goes.

I crack up, even though he’s making fun. “Stop. I don’t look that bad.”

He waggles his brows. “You look that good.” He swivels his finger in the air. “Go ahead and turn around, commence strutting.”

“Don’t watch.” I turn back toward the door and work on walking as normally as possible, no bounce, no sway.

“Now you look like you have a stick up your ass.”

I throw my hands in the air and hear his low laugh. He’s big on teasing.

I laugh a little to myself as I gather up the stuff from my apartment—Post-it, pen, tape. When I return to his place, his back’s to me and he’s dancing, one hand on the back of his neck, the other arm going back and forth as he slowly turns. He’s doing the Sprinkler.

I stop and slap a hand over my mouth to hold in the sound of my laughter. I watch, thrilled I’ve got something to tease him about now. He keeps dancing, slowly turning, until he catches my eye. He immediately drops his arm and runs a hand through his hair in a casual gesture. “Oh, hey. You’re back.”

“What were you doing?” I ask, fighting a laugh.

“I’ll tell you what I wasn’t doing. I wasn’t dancing.”

I giggle as I approach. His expression is pure innocence. He’s outrageous.

“Oh, no? What do ya call it?”

“Interpretive dance,” he says with a straight face. “Not officially recognized by dance culture.”

I gape at him. My own words from last night after he caught me post-vibrator action, all flushed with endorphins. Here I thought I caught him in an embarrassing act, but he was just teasing me from before. My cheeks flame.

He winks.

I palm his face and shove. He grabs my wrist and shifts away, laughing.

In a futile effort to hold the mortification at bay, I keep my focus on my label work, carefully printing “vodka” in all capital letters on the Post-it. Then I tape it to the water bottle. I help myself to a chilled bottled water, too, in hopes of cooling down the seemingly never-ending inferno of embarrassment I keep finding myself in around him.

He lets out an exaggerated sigh, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Can we please get back to work? I’d like to eat before nine o’clock.”

“What a taskmaster. Work, work, work.” I set my water on the counter and join him back at our flour bowls. “All right, hit play on Massimo. Let’s make some dough.” That’s the chef we’re following in the video.

“That sounds like we’re gonna get rich.”

“Tortellini rich. Let’s go, pokey.”

Brendan hits play and the dulcet rhythm of Massimo’s Italian accent instructing us in English returns. But all I can focus on is the woodsy masculine scent from the man at my side, the heat radiating off him, his corded muscular forearms as his hands rest on the counter, awaiting instruction.

I desperately want those hands on me. Why can’t I just relax and enjoy our friendship? I learned my lesson with Michael. Once you cross the line, that friendship is gone. Not that Brendan has shown any interest. He jokes around with me like he does with his brothers. I’m sure with a woman he’s interested in, he’s all smooth moves and charm. Like with whoever he was with last night. Now if that doesn’t cool my lust, nothing will.

It’s for the best. I need to stay focused on my work. Friends can pick up again whenever, but a relationship, that’s different. I’ve avoided them because I know it takes work to make time to see each other, to be there for each other, and the long distance with me off at medical school soon would be tough. I have no control over which med school I get into. Harvard is my dream, but I have to cast a wide net with my applications. I’ll look for someone to get serious with after my medical training. Now is for fun.

“Paging Dr. Travers,” Brendan says.

I startle and realize he paused the video. It must be time for us to do the next step and I missed it. “Yes?”

“We have to whisk the eggs, but I don’t have a whisk.”

“I know what to do.”

“Are you