Like right now.
I lean against the kitchen’s entryway and cross my legs at the ankles. After I got home a while ago, I took a shower and then went to get some water while wearing a towel. Something that made Gwen stare at me bug-eyed as her cheeks, ears, and neck turned red. So I changed into sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. Sometimes, I forget I’m not on my own now and that there’s a woman who looks at me as if I’m the most beautiful and frustrating thing she’s ever seen.
In the past, I didn’t give a fuck about how women saw me. Yes, King and I often attracted attention for our looks and athletic bodies, but it was all a game. A shallow, meaningless game that had no effect on my life whatsoever. So why the fuck do I feel a tinge of pride whenever Gwyneth looks at me as if I’m the only man she sees?
Back to the present—I usually stay outside so she doesn’t notice me, but fuck it, I’m watching her up close and personal today.
Holding a spatula as a microphone, she plays the role of a backup singer to the one who’s currently rapping. The upbeat music fills the kitchen and she sways her hips and kicks her leg, seeming lost in the song.
I’m supposed to be going through a case file, but I’ll do that later when she goes to sleep. That’s when my violent silence returns and I can concentrate.
However, that might be a fucking lie, because I’ve been losing grasp of the word concentration since I made this chaotic girl my wife.
She never misses a chance to barge into my thoughts uninvited. Whenever I’m working, in a meeting, or even in court, I think about her on my desk with her legs wide apart as she moans my name and tells me she’s been a very bad girl and wants me to teach her how she can be a good girl. Though she doesn’t genuinely mean that, considering she’s always being naughty in one way or another.
And I can’t stop thinking about that, about her hidden tendencies and sweet taste. I haven’t been able to stop since the first time.
Since I touched her and got a hard-on for my friend’s fucking daughter.
I close my eyes to chase that line of thinking away.
When I open them again, Gwyneth is jumping to the music, screaming with the singer about silence. The same silence she’s massacring right now.
She turns in my direction at that exact moment and freezes, her eyes going wide, with her spatula mic still at her mouth.
“Nate.” My name comes out as a flustered sound in the middle of the loud music before she clears her throat and shouts, “Alexa, stop.”
The music comes to a halt and she grimaces. “Was I too loud?”
“You think?”
“Sorry. I thought you had noise-canceling headphones or something since you’ve never complained about the music before.”
That’s because I come out to watch. But I don’t say that, continuing to observe her instead. She has flour on her cheeks, which have turned red from all the singing and dancing. A cap covers her auburn strands, but a few stubborn ones are peeking through and she blows on them whenever they get into her eyes.
“I’m baking,” she announces, motioning at the bowls, the flour, the butter, and the mess on the counter.
“I can see that. Cupcakes, I assume?”
“Yup. I have to make more than usual since Daniel steals them. Oh, and I’m making all the flavors, because apparently, not everyone likes vanilla.”
I smile at how she pouts. She really sounds offended. Extremely so. I hope Christoph doesn’t like fucking vanilla either.
“That’s blasphemy, I presume?”
“It is!” She mixes what’s in the bowl with gentle, graceful movements. “What’s there to hate about vanilla? It’s peaceful and delicious and smells good.”
“It’s also boring.”
Her head shoots up and her chin trembles the slightest bit. When she speaks, her voice sounds clogged like when someone is about to cry. “You think vanilla is boring?”
“Sometimes.”
“But why? There are a lot of things you can add vanilla to, like shampoos and shower gels and essential oils and…and…all the cakes and milkshakes and ice cream.”
“That does sound like a lot.”
“And there are many others, like vanilla sauce, cream, yogurt, and smoothies. Oh, and did you know it’s used in many alcoholic beverages, too? Because it smooths the harsh edges of alcohol.”
“And that’s important?”
“Of course! There needs to be a balance, and vanilla is perfect for that.”
“I see.”