he tore his eyes away and turned back to the fridge, opening it. “If you really want to, then do what Michaela is doing and take lessons.”
I stared at his back between narrowed eyes, burning with irritation. He could also teach lessons in earning a kick in the ass. I imagined myself doing it right then.
He sighed heavily and muttered about how he needed to hit the grocery store before shutting the fridge again, empty-handed.
I shook my head. “But why—”
“Why am I not on the tour circuit wearing a tux, carrying a candelabra and playing for thousands?” he laughed acerbically. “It’s a skill. I took lessons because it was expected of me. I quit the minute I could. Yes, I can play. That’s thirteen years of lessons and daily practice you hear. Nothing more.”
I shrugged. “Okay. But…it was really good.”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Well, thank you. I suspect you have hidden talents I don’t know about.”
I laughed. “Well a former boyfriend or two has informed me that I give next-level blowjobs.”
His features froze for a moment, as if he didn’t trust his ears. I laughed, hoping that would have at least got him to crack a smile. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and blushed.
Then he visibly swallowed. “Well, I’d ask for a demonstration but… rules and all.”
I took a deep breath, meeting that gaze and dizzy with the tension building between us. Was he angry? Was he annoyed? Who knew?
“So your parents forced you to take piano, huh?”
He shrugged. “It looked good on the college résumé, as did the private school and the rowing crew. They got their wish. I got into Cambridge. Hated every second of that two years before I transferred to Berkeley. But hell, at least I can play the piano.”
My brow twitched and suddenly any sympathy I had for him dried up. “Well at least yours supported you going to university. Be grateful for that. Mine blew my tuition savings, and I had nothing. When the time came, they told me to get a job at the local supermarket and go to vocational college. They also said it’d be a huge waste for a girl to go into computer science, since it’s such a male-dominated field.”
He looked at me like I’d grown another head. “What the hell is wrong with your parents?”
I suppressed a biting retort. How much time do you have, buddy? But I was even more annoyed by the clear sympathy on his face. No, I didn’t need sympathy from the Grump-master General. Not now.
“Eh, like any typical child I ignored them, rebelled and went into computers, anyway.”
He blinked. “Good thing you did. But jeez—”
“Anyway,” I cut him off before we started drifting into territory I did not want to discuss—namely my screwed-up family. “I’m not like a musical prodigy or anything but… I can fix us some dinner. I can cook a mean meal. And you’re clearly hungry.”
He waved at the refrigerator. “There’s nothing in there to eat.”
I moved around the center kitchen island. It was a gorgeously equipped room, despite the age of the house, with all the modern conveniences. I nudged him out of the way and he jerked away from me like I’d given him an electrostatic shock. Yanking open the large fridge, I took a moment to assess the situation. He was right. There wasn’t much. A few bits of high-end fancy cheese. Half a dozen eggs. A few assorted vegetables that were still good—a green bell pepper, half an onion, some fresh mushrooms. Two small tomatoes. Half a carton of milk. At least he bought groceries, though I wondered when he even had the time to cook for himself since he lived at Draco even more than I did.
I started gathering ingredients and formulating a plan. “You like omelets? I can whip us up something.”
“Uh yeah…”
“Eggs, peppers, a little bit of onion. Some of this yummy cheese. I can even finish it off in the oven as a frittata. You have any potatoes? And a big ol’ pan?”
He pointed to the pantry. “I think there are one or two in there.”
I instructed him to grab them and start washing and peeling while I chopped. He came back with a few potatoes that had roots sprouting out from them. Still good to use.
About forty-five minutes later, I was dishing pieces of steaming thick and fluffy frittata onto our plates. We set them down at the kitchen table with casual place settings.