"I thought you'd be more precious about food," she comments. "Being a professional athlete and all."
"Off-season," I remind her, sliding the nachos into the microwave. "Two glorious months where I can eat like a normal person."
She opens the bag of chocolate-covered espresso beans, popping one into her mouth. "These are so good. Want one?"
I lean across the counter, and instead of taking the bean she offers, I eat it directly from her fingers. Her eyes widen slightly, and I immediately wonder if I've crossed a line. Butthen she smiles a slow, beautiful thing that makes my stomach flip.
"You know what I love about you?" I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "You actually eat. Like real food."
She raises an eyebrow. "As opposed to...?"
"I've dated women who would only order salads, no dressing, and wouldn’t even eat those. It was as if food was the enemy. Hell, Adam hasn’t eaten a grain in years.”
"Well, food and I have a very loving relationship," she says, eating another chocolate bean.
"It's refreshing." I check on the nachos, which are starting to bubble. "I like a woman who enjoys things."
"What else do you like in a woman?" she asks, her tone casual but something in her eyes making me think the question isn't.
The weed has thoroughly dismantled my filters, so I answer honestly. "Intelligence. Kindness. A sense of humor." I pull the nachos from the oven and set them on the counter between us. "Physically? I like women like you."
"Like me, how?" She's not looking at me but is suddenly very interested in selecting the perfect nacho.
"Curves." The word comes out lower than I intended. "Soft. Strong. Thighs I could sink my teeth into."
Her head snaps up, eyes wide.
Shit. Did I actually say that out loud?
"That's, uh, the weed talking," I backpedal, shoving a too-hot nacho into my mouth and immediately regretting it. "Sorry."
"Don't be." She selects her nacho, carefully avoiding my gaze. "It's... nice to hear."
We eat in silence for a while, the high making the food taste impossibly good. I try to avoid staring at her lips as she licks salsa from her fingers, but I'm not completely successful.
"I should probably get to bed," she says eventually, stifling a yawn. "It's been a long day."
"Of course," I nod, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. "I'll clean this up."
She stands, stretching in a way that makes her shirt ride up slightly, revealing a strip of soft skin to which my eyes are immediately drawn.
"Thanks for tonight," she says. "The heist. The... everything."
"Anytime."
She hesitates momentarily, wanting to say something else, then simply nods. "Goodnight, Alder."
"Night, Lena."
After she disappears down the hall, I collapse onto a barstool, my head in my hands. What the hell am I doing? Thighs I could sink my teeth into? Jesus Christ, A-Stag.
The weed has made my thoughts sluggish but intensely focused, and all I can think about is that kiss. The softness of her lips. The slight sound she made when I touched her face. The way her body felt pressed against mine. Did she feel the rock-hard length of my dick pressed against her soft belly? Did she like it if yes?
This is dangerous territory. We're roommates. Payback partners. Friends, maybe. However, anything more would complicate an already messy situation. She's fresh out of a four-year relationship with an asshole who didn't appreciate her, and I'm still raw from Adam's betrayal. We're using each other for revenge and convenience.
And yet.
And yet, I can't remember the last time I felt this comfortable with someone. Can't remember laughing this freely or feeling this... seen. Even high, with my defenses down, I don't feel like I need to be anyone but myself with her.
