Right Number, Wrong Girl

“For right now,” I said softly, cupping the side of her face. “We’ve been gifted an evening where we don’t have to lie or sneak around. Let’s just pretend for one evening that this doesn’t have to end in a few days.”

She turned her face into my hand with her eyes fluttering shut. She nodded, the tiniest amount, and I dipped my down to kiss her. Her lips gently met mine, and I pulled her tighter against my body, sliding my hand around to the back of her head.

Sophie’s fingers clenched and she fisted my t-shirt, and my cock throbbed when her hips pressed against mine.

“We need to eat,” I murmured, breaking the kiss.

She sighed. “Don’t grab me like that, then.”

I kissed her again, then let her go. “You’ll soon complain if you’re hungry.”

“True.” She turned to the ingredients left on the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

“After you had to buy a cake for dessert? I think not.”

“Hey, I said I can’t bake. I can cook.”

I eyed her. “Peel those potatoes.”

“Great. That’s the exciting task I was hoping for.” She opened the cutlery drawer and pulled out the potato peeler.

“Pass it here. I’ll do it.”

“Nope. I’m here now.” She tore open the bag of potatoes and grabbed the biggest one, shot me a determined look, and ran the peeler down the potato.

And her knuckle.

Sophie dropped her head and looked at her finger. “That… really hurts.”

I briefly closed my eyes and chuckled.

“This is not funny!”

I took her wrist between my fingers and guided her to the sink, then ran her bleeding knuckle under the tap. “Stay there.”

She winced. “What an idiot.”

“I’m going to guess this is why you didn’t want to peel potatoes.” I searched the cupboards for a First Aid kit, finally finding one at the back of the cupboard under the sink. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“I might have done,” she mumbled.

“Soph.”

“Twice.”

I laughed as I grabbed the kitchen towel roll and tore off several squares. “Hold this against it while I find out a big enough plaster for that.”

She shut off the tap and did as I said. It didn’t take me long to find a big plaster, and we quickly worked together to get it on her cut before it started to bleed again.

“I think I’ll handle the potatoes,” I teased her.

She pouted. “What can I do?”

“Sit down, drink your wine, and look pretty. That might be the safest thing for you to do in the kitchen right now.”

“That’s rude.” Sophie paused. “True, but rude.”

I held up her hand. “Necessary.”