“Y-yes. I’m fine. Th-thank you.”

Her body tenses as she tries to pull away from me. It’s useless. I haven’t given her any room to maneuver.

“I’ve got it now,” she manages to whisper.

She shifts her hips back, angling to get away, but instead she manages to grind against me. She lurches forward again, throwing herself against the counter when I don’t pull away. Too bad—I was kind of enjoying the grinding. I linger a moment longer, reveling in her awkwardness. It’s kind of a turn-on that I can unsettle her so easily.

“Glad I could help.”

I drag my fingers along her forearms as I let go of her wrists and step away. Goosebumps appear in the path my fingers traced and my cock perks up in my boxers.

Tonight’s going to be fun.

“Why are you naked?” she asks, refusing to look at me. I clean up the noodle mess she made when jumping around like an idiot.

“I’m not naked,” I assure her.

“You practically are,” she snips.

She’s an interesting dichotomy.

Dr. Timid and Ms. Feisty.

I wonder which version is the real her.

“Given what we’ve got planned for tonight’s activities, what’s the big deal?” I lean against the counter and dare her to meet my gaze. She does, but only for a second before wrapping her hand in a towel.

“We are not having sex tonight,” she declares.

“We’re not?” I try to sound hurt and confused, but mostly I’m teasing her.

“No!” She finally turns to face me, keeping her eyes safely above my shoulders. A pretty amazing feat given she has to be at least a foot shorter than me. “So, could you put some clothes on?”

“Sure.” I saunter over to where I dropped my gym bag on my way to the shower. I throw on some shorts and a white T-shirt before turning back to her for approval. “Better?”

“Better. Thank you.” She sighs with relief and I can’t help but chuckle. “Well, my dinner’s ruined,” she says, tossing her ramen noodles in the trash.

“Ramen isn’t dinner. It’s a travesty. A damn food-hate crime,” I tease her. “It’s only acceptable in the dorms freshman year when a microwave and fifty cents is all you have to survive.”

“I’m not much of a cook…” Her soft voice trails off. She wraps her arms around her waist and looks away sheepishly. Is she feeling self-conscious?

Because she can’t cook?

She shifts back to timid so fast it makes my head spin. It scares me to think how easy it would be to break this girl. Suddenly, I feel shitty for mocking her.

“Then you’re in luck. Cooking is one of my many talents. Let’s see what we’ve got.” I rifle through her kitchen cabinets, searching for something that could objectively be called food.

“I don’t have much by way of cooking supplies,” she mumbles behind me. I continue undeterred.

“Believe me, I’ve made epic meals with much less.” It isn’t a lie.