The ups being when she was completely in the “friend” zone and just laughing and having a great time with him. The downs were when she was overly aware of him in a way a best friend shouldn’t be. Those moments were not his fault. They were hers alone, and she did her best to keep them under control.
Unfortunately, she was on a high-speed, belly-lifting downward plummet right now. The only thing that was going to cure it was getting used to Tommy being here all the time.
“Need any help?” he asked as he stepped into the kitchen.
Her heart stopped for a second, then started to beat erratically. Jesus. He’d showered. The soot had been scrubbed off his handsome face. Freshly shaven cheeks showed off the strong curvature of his jaw and his full masculine lips. Loose fitted jeans rode low on his hips, but the damn shirt had to be a size too small, hugging every freaking muscles of his upper body, from his ripped biceps, to his broad shoulders, to the wide expanse of his chest. Thankfully, the material loosened around his waist. Why? Because she knew everything was tight there too. Damn him. Got to get used to him being here, girl.
“Not really.” Everything was either frozen or from a jar. She spotted the portabella mushrooms sitting farther down the granite-topped counter. She always added extra to the sauce. She pointed with her knife. “You can cut those up.”
“I’m on it.”
He slid behind her, hands resting on her hips, chest grazing her shoulder blades. Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth, almost groaning when the front of his jeans brushed the back of hers.
Damn small kitchen. She should’ve bought a bigger house. A mansion, maybe.
Yeah, right. That still wouldn’t have been enough room.
“Need something to cut with,” Tommy said, not moving away.
“I got it!” Quickly leaning over, she grabbed the entire butcher’s block and shoved it toward the mushrooms. He quirked a brow at her but remained silent as he finally stepped past her and withdrew a knife. Thank God.
She knew she was acting weird. She couldn’t help it. His presence dominated the kitchen, made her very aware of how close he was standing while he chopped the mushrooms.
How they were now—oh my God—living together.
No, no, no. Not living together. Tommy was just staying here. Big, big difference.
The rest of the cooking didn’t get any easier. A lean forward as he grabbed the oil brought focus to his strong arms. An accidental brush of his hand against hers as he dumped the mushrooms into the sauce while she stirred sent a rash of goose bumps over her. Then an intentional electrifying touch as he took the wood spoon from her and told her to sit down in the living room.
Julie didn’t argue. The kitchen was getting way too hot to handle.
By the time he handed her a plate with a heaping portion of spaghetti and a slice of garlic bread, she was ready to shatter. She grabbed the glass of wine she’d placed on the coffee table and took a long gulp.
A draft swept through the room, and she shivered. Without thought, she picked up the remote to the fireplace and clicked it on. As soon as the flames ignited, she realized what she’d done.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She was wound tight enough without setting the freaking mood.
She shot a peek at Tommy, who was shoveling marinara-coated noodles into his mouth.
Not that he was conscious of it. She was alone in her acute, painful awareness of him and the awkwardness of her inappropriate feelings, while he chowed down on spaghetti, completely oblivious to her torment.
And why was that surprising? Hadn’t the man already encouraged her to freaking date while he was here? Not that she had any plans not to date. Her unanswered attraction was the bane of her existence. She tried to date as much as her schedule would allow her to, hoping to find the guy who would make her forget Tommy Sparks. So far, she’d either not met this fantasy man or he didn’t exist.
Wonderful.
She refused to believe the latter. She was not destined to be in love for the rest of her life with a jerk who waggled his eyebrows in encouragement when he talked about her having a date with another man. No. Way.
“What’s on TV tonight?” he asked, yanking her from her thoughts.
Silently thanking him for the distraction, she said, “It’s a channel-surf night, actually. You don’t have to sit with me. It’s okay to eat in your room.”
He paused with the fork halfway to his mouth. “Is that what you want me to do?”
“No…no.” Yes. But she couldn’t actually say that, or she risked setting a very bad tone for this new living situation. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want you thinking you have to keep me entertained.”
She mentally cringed at her word choice. Thankfully, he didn’t notice.
“I don’t. I’m right where I want to be.”
“Good.” She forced a cheerful smile. “Good.”