“I know you tampered with my oven and ruined my baked Alaska.” I hold out my hand, folding one finger down. “You also hid my knives more times than I can count. I can check off a bunch more.”
“Yeah, really? Childish college pranks nearly a decade ago. And don’t act like you were innocent. I had yeast up my ass and Blake and I couldn’t go into our bathroom for nearly a week.” He rakes his long fingers through his black curls. “He hated being my roommate because of you.”
Yeah, I recall exactly what Blake thought of me. I remember what Knox said too. “Poor little rich boy. Your friend made you sad. Your golden toilet broke. Here, let me play you a concerto on my tiny violin.” I move my fingers together, bulging my eyes, my voice rising as I continue. “Stop deflecting. You and Buccola are in on something together.”
He opens his mouth, then slams it shut, eyes wide.
“Oh my God. I’m right.” I slap a hand across my mouth.
“You’re not right. It’s not what you think.”
There’s a loud knock at the door.
Knox walks over and looks through the peephole. “May I help you?”
“Hotel security.”
He opens the door, and a burly man in a suit is standing on the other side of the threshold. “We’ve had complaints of screaming coming from this room.”
Oh my goodness. This is the single most embarrassing day of my life. I walk over to the window and concentrate on the people milling about on the sidewalk below, ignoring the conversation Knox is having with hotel security.
When Knox closes the door, I take a breath and head toward it. Hopefully the security guy has made it onto the elevator before I get there. I need that drink more than ever now.
“Rowan, don’t go. Let me try to explain.” His hand hovers over my arm, but he doesn’t touch me. Thankfully. I’m not sure he wouldn’t draw back a nub.
“It’s probably best I go now. I can’t be responsible for what happens next. And I definitely can’t afford to be reported to the show especially after what happened today. I can only hope the hotel doesn’t know it was me in here.”
He moves away from the door but pleads with his eyes. They’re aquamarine, and now I’m confused. They should be ice blue. Why is he so focused? “Please.”
I study his face, looking for…something. Then I rack my brain trying to remember if I’ve ever heard that word from his lips. Maybe the first day we met. Before I knew who he was. Before he knew who I was. Before we hated each other.
There’s a love seat on the opposite wall so I perch on the arm, leaving myself an easy exit path.
He doesn’t quite smile, but the corner of his mouth inches up. Instead of sitting on the sofa, he settles on the floor next to my feet, crossing his bare feet at the ankles, resting his defined arms on his knees.
He scrubs his hands across his face and looks up. “I would never intentionally sabotage you. I know we’ve been through a lot, but this is important to you. And we’re adults now. Those were kid games before.”
Nice speech, but I’m not buying it. “Why should I believe you? You’ve caused me nothing but misery since I’ve known you. And the one thing in the world I struggle with…the thing you know I struggle with just happens to appear in a challenge today. What are the odds?”
“It’s pasta for fuck’s sake. You act like they asked you to make tête de veau.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. The way he wrapped his tongue around those French words has me… Focus, girl. “Sure, but it just seems like a huge coincidence that I had to make it today. I’ve watched every season, and they’ve never even done a challenge where the judges pick what you cook. This isn’t some home-cooks show.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. My family had to do the same challenge this afternoon and we didn’t get pasta. It’s my specialty so if the ‘fix were in’ as you say, don’t you think we would have?”
I hadn’t thought of that. Still doesn’t mean there isn’t something funny going on. “Why did you want me to come here tonight? Why did you ask right before the challenge? You’re messing with my head.”
He blows out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not sure if I should be upset that you think so lowly of me or flattered that you believe I have so much power.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do I have that much power over you?”
“What? No, of course not.” The objection is weak, even to my ears. “It’s not power. You just get under my skin, and you’ve been messing with me ever since this season was announced.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, but I promise you I would never cheat.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
This is going nowhere. I stand, ready to go. “I have no idea why I’m here, so I’m just going to go.”
He touches the bottom of my pant leg. I haven’t even changed from filming earlier, grease and sauces splattered here and there. “You’re right. Let me explain. Please.”
There’s that word again. Surely this has got to be some kind of record.
I sit on the sofa this time, the weight of the world dragging me into its padded depths.
Knox leans forward, close enough to lay his head in my lap if he chose to. “Do you remember the first time we met?”
Ha! Do I? I’ve thought about that day so many times over the past ten years it’s not even funny. I was bright and enthusiastic, shiny as a brand-new penny. I’d breezed through my first class, Algebra I, excited to dig in and experiment. Then I’d walked into my next class and there he was, the perfect
