Krisa
The pan sizzled and the smell of bacon wafted into my nostrils making my mouth water and my stomach rumble. But despite the hunger I was feeling, I was still trying to figure out why the hell I was standing beside the counter in the kitchen, watching Kale Brenner flip the oil spattering bacon clumsily with tongs in his large, sexy hand. My mind went into overload.
I should be doing my job and admiring this man from afar. Instead, I have to walk in on him arguing with his sister about businesses, and escorts, and therapy, and escorts. And now it’s bacon I’ll be eating with this man I should be incredibly wary of. He clearly has an anger problem. And weird hobbies. Escorts, Krisa, escorts!
Yet in between his clumsy cooking, he would turn and look at me with those big blue eyes and I couldn’t move. I just stood there.
Before I knew it there were two plates on the island counter in the centre of the kitchen, and he beckoned me to him with a motion of his hand. He served the messy bacon and eggs onto each plate and waited for me to take a seat on one of the bar stools around the island.
I sat down as far away from where he stood and grabbed the plate.
“This smells great,” I said, smiling. “Thanks.”
“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it smells.”
As he gave me my fork and knife, he slid his plate next to mine and took a seat. Right.Beside.Me.
The proximity had me looking fixedly on a burnt tip of a bacon strip on my plate. There was no way I could bring myself to look up at him. I wasn’t comfortable yet. Not when I was this close to him.
His shoulder brushed against mine, the hardness rubbing gently – and casually – against the softness of my own as he cut through his bacon and took a bite. I could smell him so clearly from where I sat. Of soap and a mild cologne that wasn’t invading to the nostrils at all. There was also another smell, a manly kind of scent that was all him.
I consciously brought the knife and fork together over a bacon strip and hacked my way into it. I say hacked because, well, the damn thing was so overcooked it was like taking a toothpick to a brick and expecting some kind of break.
“So,” I said as I hacked away, “do you always fight with your sister?”
“For as long as I can remember,” he answered. “Again, sorry you had to hear all that. She likes to get carried away with things.”
“Like what?”
From my peripheral, I watched him pause and glance at me. “Well, you know, she hears shit through the grapevine and likes to over-exaggerate it. It’s very frustrating when people put facts together that only you know without even consulting you about it.”
“I know what you mean,” I replied in understanding. “People will do that to you. Twist shit and antagonize you.”
He looked at me again, this time for a lot longer. “Oh, yeah? Spoken from experience?”
I shrugged. A lot. “A little.”
“Who the hell would want to antagonize you? No offense or anything, but you look as dangerous as a stuffed bear.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me and had to cover my face with my hand.
He laughed lightly beside me. “It’s true.”
I shrugged again. “Some might not agree with you.”
“Oh, yeah? I’m very sceptical.”
I shot him a glance and quickly returned to my plate. I was feeling too shy to meet his eye for longer than a second. What had become of my old confidence, I wondered. “Now you speak of experience. Why would anyone antagonize you?”
“I’m a little shit, that’s why.”
I nodded. “I can see that.”
Still staring at me, he added softly, “Sometimes you gotta break free from those people that bring you down, and try and forget the bad shit.”
I paused and glanced at him. Without stopping, I asked, “How do you try and forget?”
“Find something that works for you. Me, I like to work out my frustrations. Other people have other ways. Sports, classes…sex.”
Sex? How random was this guy?
I resisted fidgeting in my seat. Once upon a time, it was sex that made me forget. After my kind of upbringing, I had no idea what real affection was, and I leeched it out of men after seducing them.
Bad days. Bad memories. I shuddered at them and pushed them far from my thoughts. I was different now.
Kale seemed intent on watching my reaction, and a small smile formed. Why did he look like he had a secret?
“Right,” I eventually muttered, turning back to my food.
He took a few more bites. I hadn’t had a single bite yet. I hacked and hacked at the brick of a bacon strip and felt sore at the wrists.
“You doing alright there?” he asked me, his voice alight with humour. His eyes burned into my profile and then down at my hands. “You need help, Krisa?”
“It’s just a bit tough,” I answered quietly.
“Do you want me to cut it for you?”
“Uh… don’t worry about it –”
But he was already at my plate, leaning into my side, using his own fork and knife on same bacon I was struggling with. I dared myself to look up and found him scowling at the food. I was enamoured by those beautiful thick brows and that straight nose atop of those big pursed lips…
“I can’t believe I gave you all the damn hard bits,” he muttered, stirring me out of my daze. “I’m a terrible cook.”
“It’s fine,” I assured him.
“You can use your hands.”
“My hands?”
“Yeah, just grab the bacon and chomp on it.” He put the knife and fork down and picked up one the bacon strips in between his long fingers. He turned to me and brought the tip of it to my mouth.
I laughed lightly but it came out sounding nervous. “You want me to eat out of your hand?”
He smiled at my question, white teeth blaring beautifully. “Thought I should be the one getting messy.”
Okay, this was just getting weird now.
“I’m fine,” I told him.
“Come on, take a bite,” he pressed.
He still had the strip to my lips, staring expectantly at me with humour seared into his expression. He knew how odd this was. I can’t believe I parted my lips and let him settle an inch of the tasty burnt bacon slice into my mouth.
I swear – swear – it would have been the sexiest thing that ever happened to me if only my teeth would have cut through the meat with no worries. Instead, I crunched down and pulled back, trying desperately to dislodge the bacon from the rest of its body so that I could chew the damn thing. But, alas, it was hopeless, and I looked like a mutt chomping away at a piece of raw meat.
I pushed his hand away, frowning at the stupidity of this entire damn situation.
“I think it’s clear I can’t bite that off,” I stated, looking so embarrassed I’m sure my cheeks were blazing red.
“Do you want me to bite it off for you?”
The question sent spikes through my heart. My eyes popped wide open and I looked at him in stunned silence. He burst out laughing, the sound deep and contagious, and plopped the piece of bacon on the plate, eyeing the cross on my necklace so abruptly and quickly, I wouldn’t have noticed if I’d blinked.
“This is funny to you, isn’t it?” I felt that anger from before emerging. The same anger I felt when I walked into the kitchen to find it in absolute chaos. I could never control the words I spoke when I was passed a certain point of anger, and it rose so suddenly when it came to this man before me.
“You like to wind me up.” I shook my head and quickly slid off the stool. “I bet you burned that bacon on purpose too, huh? Just like you mispronounced my name on purpose last week.”
“I mispronounced your name for a reason,” he replied, that amused face slowly fading. “I thought you’d know what that reason was.”
“What reason could you possibly have to mispronounce it?”
“Sometimes we do things to juggle some people’s memories.”
What the hell was he on about? “And the bacon?” I then said, gesturing to the mess on the island.
“The bacon was a genuine mistake on my part,” he replied. “I’m a fucking shit cook, kitten.”
I froze. What did he just call me?
I’d been called that before. A very long time ago. I couldn’t remember why or by whom. If it was during my past, then I’d most likely been drunk stupid.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I quietly said, turning away from his examining eyes. “I’m going to do your laundry and then I’m going to leave.”
“Do you want me to make some other kind of food?”
“No.”
“If I’ve pissed you off, I’m sorry –”
“You apologize too much,” I cut in sharply, backing out of the kitchen. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished, Mr Brenner. Until then, you should really consider turning off your stove top. The last thing the kitchen deserves is a fire on top of last week’s shit-storm.”