Jake
According to what was happening in my pants, I was twelve again and stuck in the closet with Carly Foster during a game of spin the bottle at a grade school birthday party. As soon as I saw Mackenzie’s boobs I was done for. Turned on. Check. Bad thoughts. Check. Erection. Check.
What can I say? I was a boob guy. And I hadn’t seen a pair of semi-naked boobs in almost a year.
I didn’t want to look . . . but I’m a guy so it was pretty much in my genetic makeup to look. My eyes dipped to her chest and it was damn near impossible not to notice the perfection of her ample rack. And the way the white lace of her bra set off the deep tan of her flesh. Or the fact that she was already in just a towel around her slim hips and it would only take one small tug to get her semi-naked.
Goddamn . . .
I rubbed the front of my thighs desperate to adjust the raging wood taking place in my boxer shorts. Needing a distraction I quickly changed the subject. “Are you hungry?”
Mackenzie did her shirt back up and then gave me one of those warm smiles that hit me right in the stomach.
“Mmmmmmmm, food sounds good,” she said and I noticed the slight glaze in her eyes. Yeah. She needed food.
“Your jeans should be dry now,” I said. “Do you want me to get them from the dryer?”
She shook her head. “It’s okay, I’ll go put them on.”
When she disappeared around the corner, I made a break for the kitchen, taking the opportunity to adjust the front of my cargos as I walked. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out ground beef from the freezer compartment, and placed it in the microwave to thaw. I heard the dryer stop and before I could stop myself, I pictured Mackenzie redressing in her jeans. I pictured the towel falling from her hips to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a pair of tiny panties. Yeah. It was my fantasy and her panties were tiny. I heard the door to the dryer close and the sound of her towel being tumbled, and I pictured those long legs of hers sliding into denim. She was definitely a shimmier, so I imagined her shimmying into those skinny jeans, tugging them up her legs and wiggling that perfect peach ass of hers until they fit nice and snug around her curves.
Damn. My breath left me and I had to adjust myself in my cargos, again. I needed to rub out the need I felt unfurling there before I gave myself blue balls.
Mackenzie walked back in to the kitchen, buttoning up the front of her jeans.
Yep. I was going to need a long shower.
“What’s on the menu?” She grinned at me, and again I felt blinded by those cute dimples on either side of her lips. She had pulled her rich golden hair free from its ponytail so it hung loose around her face and down her shoulders. “Do you want some help?”
“There’s a stock pot in there.” I pointed to a cupboard beneath the small island bench. “If you get the water boiling for the pasta I’ll make the sauce.”
I’m a star when it comes to making spaghetti sauce. And I’m not talking about your spaghetti-sauce-in-the-jar-type awesomeness. I mean, I’m a real fucking star and I make it from scratch. Spring tomatoes. Fresh basil. Finely sliced garlic. And a secret ingredient that always skyrocketed the taste into outer space.
While Mackenzie busied herself with getting the water boiling, I browned the ground beef in a frying pan, mixed in some fresh basil and garlic, and then added a jar of vine-ripened tomatoes I had preserved only a few months earlier.
We’ll talk about me preserving food later . . . because, yeah, I preserve shit.
“Water is boiling. Are you ready for me to add the pasta?” Mackenzie asked. When I looked at her she tucked her hair behind her ears again, and I was suddenly distracted by how beautiful she looked.
I nodded. “Pasta is in the pantry.”
“Olive oil?” she asked, and I pointed to the cupboard above the small stove.
While she got the pasta happening, I took half a small pumpkin from the refrigerator and began skinning it.
“Pumpkin?” Mackenzie queried.
I put an index finger across my lips. “Shhhhhhh . . . totally my secret weapon.”
Mackenzie grinned. “Really? Pumpkin?”
I chopped the pumpkin into pieces and put it in the microwave to soften. “It was my mom’s way of sneaking vegetables into our meals. She always did it. Mashed up pumpkin in spaghetti sauce. Broccoli in casserole. Mixed vegetables in soup.”
“I like her style,” Mackenzie said with an impressed grin. And I was suddenly struck with the idea that my mom would have loved this girl. Out of all the women I had ever spent time with she would have loved Mackenzie the best of all. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. I had never personally chosen one moment of time with Mackenzie. She had kind of forced every single incident on me. Yet now that she was here I couldn’t help but appreciate the time with her.
The thought was like ice-cold water being thrown over me.
What the fuck was I thinking?
This wasn’t happy families.
This was me simply trying to get through the night with my unwanted guest. I had to remember that. After the blizzard, she would leave and I would forget her.
I removed the pumpkin from the microwave. “How is the pasta coming along?”
Using a pair of tongs, Mackenzie pulled a string of spaghetti from the boiling pot and then to my complete surprise threw it against the wall.
“If it sticks or falls off it’s not done.” Mackenzie explained. “But if it does the caterpillar crawl down the wall, you know it’s al dente.”
The spaghetti fell off the wall.
“It needs a few more minutes.” She winked and then dunked her finger into the spaghetti sauce on the stove. “Mmmmmmmm . . . that is pretty good.”
I refused to acknowledge how fucking sexy it was watching Mackenzie stick her finger in her mouth and then slowly drag it from her plump lips.
“Just wait. You haven’t seen anything yet,” I said, taking the masher from the cutlery drawer and mashing the pumpkin, adding salt and mixed herbs as I did, and then scooping it into the spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove.
Stirring the thick mixture, I looked across at Mackenzie who was busying herself with the pasta. She turned her head to look at me and smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back but then quickly turned back to my pasta sauce.
“You know what would go really well with this?” she said. Again, tucking her hair behind her ear and making me wish she would do that over and over again.
“What?”
She grinned. “A good bottle of red.”
That, I could do.
“You’re in luck.” I handed her the wooden spoon I was using to stir the sauce.
My granddaddy liked two things in life. Fish and red wine. Good wine. He kept a small cellar in a hole in the floor. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just something to serve his love of a good wine. Certainly nothing to impress.
I couldn’t help but smile as I crossed the room to the area between the kitchen and the bathroom. There was a rug covering the trap door and when I pushed it aside, I realized Mackenzie was watching me from where she stood at the stove.
“Really? You have a secret cellar?”
I grinned at her “What can I say? I’m a man of many surprises.”
There were thirteen bottles in the makeshift cellar. I picked one based on the criteria I always used when picking a bottle of wine—the appeal of the label.
I popped the cork and let it breathe as I pulled two plates from the pantry.
“Ready for the pasta?” Mackenzie asked.
“Is it ready?”
“It’s crawling down the wall like a caterpillar . . . so, yeah.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Let’s do it.”
Mackenzie drained the pasta in the sink while I stirred the thick pasta sauce. Three minutes later, I was tipping my mom’s renowned pasta sauce over the top of some pretty al dente spaghetti.
“Want to pour us the wine?” I asked her.
We sat at the small table, two big plates of pasta and spaghetti sauce, and two glasses of red wine. It could be a romantic date but it wasn’t. There was nothing romantic about it.
Because she was my agent. And I wasn’t interested.
I watched as she devoured her meal.
“This is ah-maaaazing!” she said, scooping up her pasta and all that sauce using both a spoon and fork to pile it into her mouth. With her mouth full she tried to talk. “Ohmagord . . . thispastaisamordan . . .”
“You like?” I asked, desperately trying not to look at her mouth and those dimples deep in her cheeks.
She swallowed her mouthful. “Must be the pumpkin mash.” Red pasta sauce was smeared on her lips and I had an urge to reach over and wipe it off with my thumb.
But I didn’t.
Because I wasn’t a weirdo.
“Oh, my God,” she moaned as if the food in her mouth was giving her an orgasm. “I’m serious, Jake. This sauce is turning me on.”
That erection I had earlier? Yep. It was making a come back.
Hard.
I took a sip of my wine and fought with the images in my mind. The moaning. The pasta sauce on her lip. The way she kept tucking her hair behind her ear. Jesus Christ, I was horny as hell.
I took a desperate sip of my wine. It was going to be a long night.
I needed a distraction.
And I needed one now!
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