“How was your photoshoot?” I ask, and she shrugs.
“Eh. It was a photoshoot.”
“And the interview?”
“Same as always.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand as she leads me through her home, only this time there are others milling around. Staff members, I assume, but I can’t begin to guess what they do. Not until we reach the kitchen and encounter “Chef Lana” putting the finishing touches on some amazing-looking sushi rolls.
“Hi, I’m Oliver,” I say, lifting my hand. Hers are occupied, so she smiles back a greeting.
“Hi, Oliver. Lana.”
“Oh, you have to try her Breakfast Roll.”
“Breakfast Roll?” I ask, loving the sudden light in Genevieve’s eyes.
She plucks a piece from the tray and holds it up to my lips. “It’s all my favorite things about breakfast in sushi form. Are you allergic to anything?” I shake my head, open my mouth, and let her shove the bite in. Her finger brushes my lips, sending an unexpected shudder through me.
Her eyes ignite as she waits for my reaction, so expectant and hopeful. I’ve never wanted to love a bite of food so much in my life, and a smile slips out as the flavors burst on my tongue. Tart grapefruit mixes with crunchy granola and creamy yogurt. A surprising hint of honey melts from the rice. These are the flavors of breakfast to her? I love that I know that.
“What do you think? Good, right?”
“It’s delicious. I’ve never had anything like it.”
She seems relieved, and my amusement fades. I don’t want her happiness tied to mine. I want her eyes to light up over her “Breakfast Roll” whether I love it or hate it.
“If you want something else, Lana can make it for you. Is that okay, Chef?” she asks the older woman.
Lana smiles and nods. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
“This is great,” I say. “Seriously, it all looks amazing.”
Genevieve beams and hands me a plate. “Eat up. You must be hungry.”
I am, but I’m more interested in watching her eat. Who am I kidding? I’m happy to do anything with her.
“Okay, well, I’ll be back in a bit to clean up. Let me know if you need anything,” Lana says with a smile, but my relief at being alone with Genevieve only lasts a second when another young woman breezes into the kitchen. She stops abruptly when she sees me, her eyes widening.
“Shoot. You’re here already,” she says, and I can’t help but smile at the blunt introduction.
“I am. I’m Oliver,” I say, extending my hand.
“Hadley,” she says, shaking it. Firm grip, probing gaze. I can tell by the way she hovers near Genevieve that she’s a protector. I like her already.
“Hadley is my personal assistant and oldest friend,” Genevieve says. Maybe I kind of remember her from the meet-and-greet. In Hadley’s defense, I don’t remember much other than her boss. Genevieve has a very blinding effect on me, and I’d venture to say, most people.
“Nice to finally meet you, Oliver,” she says, and I don’t miss the sly look she gives Genevieve. Genevieve blushes and returns a subtle glare.
“Finally?” I say with a chuckle.
“Yes, well, if you haven’t noticed, this one doesn’t like to share a lot of details. All I know about you is that you play hockey, have pretty eyes, and prettier abs.”
“Hadley!” Genevieve cries, smacking her arm.
I laugh, enjoying the crimson hue that spreads over Genevieve’s cheeks.
Unphased, Hadley shrugs and piles sushi on her plate. “What? First guy you bring home in months, and all I get is the same thing I’d find on a hockey card. There are hockey cards like baseball cards, right?” she asks me.
I grin back. “Yeah, but our abs aren’t on them. That would be new information.”
Hadley snorts a laugh and lifts her fist for a bump. I oblige and tap it with mine. “I like you,” she says. “I approve. Carry on,” she tosses to Genevieve. Picking up her plate, she flutters a wave and disappears from the room.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” Genevieve groans when we’re alone.
“Don’t worry about it. She’s great.” Genevieve doesn’t look convinced as she pushes a piece of Breakfast Roll around her plate. “Is what she said true?” I ask. The red tinge of her skin deepens, and I laugh. “Not about the abs. Am I the first guy you’ve invited over in months?”
Her gaze flickers to mine before it returns to her plate. “I don’t date much,” she says finally. There’s a cryptic undercurrent to her tone that makes me think there’s more to that story, but I don’t want to pry. I also like the idea that this is a date, however unconventional it may be. “Anyway, we have just over an hour left so let’s not waste it. Do you want to go to my room?”
I choke a little on the rice in my mouth, and she cringes. “Wait, I didn’t mean… I just meant, for privacy. To talk.”
I force a smile, strangely disappointed and relieved at the same time. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my promise to myself. Especially, with the way she looks in those cute sweats. Her hair is knotted in a messy bun, but her face is still made up in runway perfection, presumably from the recent photoshoot. The contrast of casual and glamour unites her two worlds in a dizzying spectrum of beauty that wreaks equal havoc on my bloodstream. I want her wholly and completely, in any form. I just want her.
“Sure. I’d be happy to go to your room,” I say, trying to keep the desire from my voice. I want her to feel safe with me above anything. To know she can take me to her room without pressure or expectations.
She slides off the stool and grabs her plate of half-eaten sushi. “You can bring your plate if you want. Grab a drink on the way by the fridge.”
I follow her through a maze of corridors to a back staircase that I don’t think is the main one, since I recall an
