She smiles as she pushes herself off the couch. "You worked up my appetite." She bounces to the kitchen. "I'm starving."
Damn, she has a nice ass.
Piper really is cute. Not just her gorgeous face and fantastic ass, but the way she's bouncing around my apartment.
She slams the microwave door shut and turns the thing on. "You're giving me a look."
"I'm checking out your ass."
"That's not it." She leans against the fridge, yelps over it being cold, and jumps a few inches to the left. "I'm going to feel like one of those girls if I keep asking what you're thinking."
"Which girls are those?"
She picks up her fork and licks it clean. "The ones who can't take a hint that you're done with them."
"I'm not done with you." I wrap my arms around her. "I want you in my life, Piper."
"Promise?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I... um... that was really good. Fun. And, um." She shakes her head to shake off her blush. "Special. Though I guess I'
ve never—"
"It was."
She smiles ear to ear. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
The microwave saves her from the blush threatening to spread to her chest.
She grabs the plates and brings them back to the counter.
I slide into one of the high chairs. "Nobody's ever made me dinner before."
"Never?" She sits next to me, picks up her fork, and plays with her food. "Not even your parents?"
"When I was a kid. My mom's been mentally MIA since I was eleven or so. My dad's never around." I take a bite of the pasta. It's an easy, normal meal— boiled spaghetti and broccoli, a jar of marinara—but it's special. Nobody looks out for me like this.
"What did you eat?"
"The maid cooked."
"And you said your parents weren't rich." She laughs. "And you slipped that Silicon Valley comment by me earlier, like you thought I wouldn't realize. Your parents are freaking loaded." She shakes her head with mock outrage. "Spoiled rich boy."
I steal a piece of broccoli from her plate. "Spoiled rich girl."
"We're two of a kind." She twirls her pasta onto her fork and eats it slowly. Like she's savoring every bite. "I guess the maid doesn't count as cooking for you. It's like saying a chef cooked for you. It's her job."
I nod through my next bite.
"Mal always cooks for me. He's a bit of a control freak in the kitchen."
"Not just in the kitchen."
She sticks her tongue out in disgust. "I don't need to hear about that."