Keiran’s breath whooshed out his mouth. His brain went right to the gutter. She hadn’t meant it that way, surely, but his body tightened all the same. Playing dirty with Cherisse sounded downright fun. He cleared his throat. “Right.”

Cherisse’s hand hovered there, the fish eye smack in the middle of the spoon, swimming in broth. The feeling in the room shifted, wound tighter as if any sudden movement on both their parts would shatter the tension that was swiftly building. Keiran swallowed. Cherisse’s eyes dipped to his throat, then back up to his face, so quickly, he was sure he’d imagined it. Their staring match went on for what felt like minutes but had to be a couple of seconds, at best.

Scooby’s nails clicked against the floor as he padded over to them, and the spell was broken. Cherisse pulled back her hand and popped the fish eye and broth in her mouth, cheeks hollowing like she was sucking a sweet—instead, she was cleaning the meat that clung to the eye. She spat the eye out and grinned at Keiran.

“Delish.”

Now she was the one teasing him, in more ways than one. The double entendre had been unintended. Didn’t stop his brain from trying to go there. Her massacre of the fish eye didn’t put a damper on that. If anything, it weirdly made him wonder how she’d use her tongue otherwise.

Bad brain. Stop this.

“I’ll eat yours if you want?”

Keiran choked on his broth. She definitely hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. Had she? He peered at her as she stared back at him, the question magnified by the way her head was cocked, waiting for his reply.

“Uh, sure, yeah, it’s yours. All yours.” Be cool. Be the guy who was in the studio earlier, not this awkward loser.

Except, studio Keiran didn’t quite know how to deal with perceived double meanings that sounded way dirtier than they’d been intended.

He should’ve just let her leave, not prolonged their time together. This felt too intimate all of a sudden. Cooking for friends was one way they bonded. They’d each bring a dish. He’d whip up his own thing. Drinks, food, and lively conversation was their MO. With Cherisse, it felt too cozy, too...everything. His brain was rapidly supplying all sorts of nonsensical ideas.

He didn’t need any of this. He sure knew how to add unnecessary complications to his own life.

Jesus, take the wheel.

Chapter 14

Cherisse

HER KITCHEN SMELLED like heaven, a delicious mix of the cakes in the oven, and the sugary concoctions in the shot glasses before her.

Perfect. The red velvet shooters were ready for sampling. Jello had clearly thought so, too—she’d had to shoo him away from the shooters several times. He hadn’t liked that one bit, but he strolled out of the kitchen, tail swishing as if he didn’t care that he’d been denied a taste. He generally stayed clear of the kitchen when she was in the baking zone, but after, he’d come sniffing around to try his luck. Not that he ever got lucky.