Drew
“I HONESTLY DON’T know what happened . . . I hope I didn’t break anything. You better have a look.” Sabrina peered at me under batting lashes as her finger drifted up my arm.
Freshmen weren’t supposed to practice in the test kitchens and didn’t have a reason to. Second-year students were here the most, usually trying to crack a technique, and the third- and fourth-years knew their way around enough to test for the hell of it. This girl, twirling her auburn hair through her fingers with doe eyes fixed on me, wasn’t here to practice or test. How she got written permission to be here was beyond me, although I’d bet she used the hair thing for that, too.
“I’m sure you didn’t. Point me to the station and I’ll fix it.” I forced a smile and suppressed an eye roll as I stood from my chair. Manning the test kitchen was supposed to be an easy on-campus job, and since the IT positions were gobbled up so damn fast, I thought this was an easy way to make money without too much aggravation. Usually I just signed people in or out, checked the power at one of the stations if a student had trouble, or passed the time during my allotted hours reading a book or working on a project. This girl wasn’t here to learn, as the only thing she studied when she’d come in was me. This was the fourth “I don’t know what happened” in two weeks.
She had a petite, curvy body topped off with a cute face, but I never gave in to her attempts at flirting. Sabrina was the kind of girl I’d dated a hundred times. Granted, that’s what you were supposed to do in college: date, get laid, repeat, but it became tedious for me. My friends still embraced the cycle, but I wanted a woman who made me work for it, not offered herself on a platter before she even said hello.
After I ambled over and found nothing wrong with the station or the equipment, I made my way back to the front desk. Sabrina muttered something about me being her hero, but I ignored it. I hoped she’d get the hint eventually, but eventually didn’t seem to be anytime soon.
I slid back into my seat and opened up my laptop, hoping like hell for a quiet rest of the shift.
“Hey,” a throaty voice greeted me, pulling my eyes away from my screen. “I know it’s late, but could I sign in for just an hour or so?”
Well, I’ll be damned. The beautiful hallway and bar angel stood before me. She was the only woman to back away from me as if I had the Ebola virus the two times I’d met her. Both times, my eyes had stayed glued to the contour of her perfect ass as she rushed off to escape me. I noticed her at Night Owls the other night and caught her checking me out a few times. When I finally managed to slip away from the guys and reintroduce myself, she was even more skittish than when I first met her.
Her whiskey-colored eyes searched mine, and fuck, she was gorgeous. A blush spread across her cheeks, and I couldn’t resist calling her on it.
“At least we didn’t knock each other over this time.” My lips twitched as I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.
Her eyes narrowed as if I’d offended her. Forget about my usual game, small talk was like pulling teeth with this girl.
She tucked a chestnut lock of hair behind her ear before glancing at her watch with a frustrated hiss. “I didn’t realize it was this late. I’d meant to get down here earlier, but classwork from today took longer than I’d thought, and I really wanted to cook something for myself for once. I’ll try back tomorrow.”
She turned to leave, and I popped out of my seat and grabbed her elbow.
“Not too late at all, Sara. Station in the front is totally free. Cook your heart out.”
“Really?” She squinted as her head cocked to the side.
“I have nowhere to be tonight.” I shrugged and leaned against the front of my desk. “It’s no trouble at all.”
She gave me a small smile, and a little air whooshed out of my lungs. She really was beautiful, if not the most outgoing. She intrigued me even from that first day. So much so, I bought myself an extra hour in the cooking lab for a chance to get to know her a little bit.
“Thank you so much.” She rushed over and happily dug out a mixing bowl for whatever she had set out to make. I’d never seen one of the students enjoy what they were doing so much. Her passion was intoxicating. A thought crossed my mind that maybe, when pushed enough, she could be passionate about other things, too—and use those full pink lips to show it.
Screw it. I was stuck here for an extra hour anyway. I’d give small talk another try. Sabrina and most of the other students already left so Sara and I were almost all alone.
“So, what are you making?”
Sara jumped, so engrossed in her task she didn’t even register my approach.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” I raised my hands and took a step back.
“No, it’s okay. I’m making cookies actually. I used to make them for my . . . back home, so I wanted to soothe my homesickness I guess.” She kneaded the dough with very capable hands, quick, nimble, beautiful. I had never been jealous of flour and water before.
“Where are you from? I’m guessing you transferred here from somewhere.”
“New York City. Queens. I did, but I took a little break after my last semester.”
“How long?” She stilled at the question before raising her head.
“Oh about, eight years or so.” She laughed at my widened eyes.
“Eight years?” I cleared my throat, doing a terrible job of covering my shock. “What made you come back after so long?”
She was silent for a few beats, rolling tiny balls of dough and carefully placing them onto a sheet.
“Long story.”
“So, you’re . . .” I fumbled, now caught way off guard.
“Thirty-two.” She quirked an eyebrow before shoving the trays in the oven.
“No.” My hand drifted down my face. “I mean . . . I’m glad you were able to come back.” Get it together, idiot.
She gave me that little smile again, and my chest swelled. I had the feeling smiles from Sara didn’t come easy. My gaze fell on her mouth again, hypnotized by the way she was chewing her bottom lip. Her nervous tic had me hot and bothered. Telling me her age was probably her way of making me back off, but it didn’t work. I wanted to know her. I wanted to see who she was beneath all the tentative toughness she pushed to the surface. What I really wanted was to see that smile again, and the cat and mouse staring game we were playing the other night gave me a twinge of hope that maybe I could figure out how.
“I have cousins in Queens. Astoria. The crazy Kostas family, maybe you’ve met them.”
“Can’t say that I have.” She glanced at the floor before lifting her eyes to mine. “I’m really sorry I kept you here.”
I waved my hand. “No bother at all. Although if you’re feeling badly about it, you could make it up to me . . .”
“Make it up to you?” She squinted and rested her elbows on the counter.
“Coffee. Just one cup tomorrow afternoon. I’ll go easy on you.”
She dropped her eyes to the floor and shook her head. “I can’t. It’s just not a good idea. I need to . . . focus while I’m here.”
“And . . . coffee is a distraction? I don’t follow.” I inched over to her station, close enough for her not to be able to ignore me.
“It could be. I’m sorry.” She studied my face with a silent plea, her chest heaving before her wary eyes locked with mine.
“Maybe another time, then.”
An unexpected laugh bubbled out of her chest.
“Finish your recipe and whenever you’re done, I’ll lock up.”
“Thanks, Drew,” she whispered with that sultry voice.
I did say I loved a challenge.