Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“You don’t?” I asked, half teasing, as I slid out of my coat and handed it to the lady who was trading coats for white aprons with a bright and cheery smile.
Rome tossed me a look as he handed over his leather coat for an apron. “No, I don’t. I do most of my own cooking. However, I will admit that I have borrowed Declan’s chef a couple of times to make me a batch of meals for when I wasn’t in the mood to cook.”
A snort escaped me, and I led the way to the back of the large teaching area. There were a dozen marble-topped islands set up with small sinks and a two-burner stovetop. On the counters were bowls, mixing implements, and other cooking supplies. They hadn’t brought out the premeasured food yet.
Thinking up stupid date ideas for this arrangement with Rome was hard. It had taken me close to a week to come up with this cooking class. I wanted something two “friends” could do together that wouldn’t leave us with too much time to talk. The pinball place had been perfect. The only time we’d been forced to talk was while we were eating. I hoped the need to listen to the instructor would keep us from engaging in too much chitchat.
I glanced up at the airy, white room to find nearly all the stations were filled. There was just one other spot that had a same-sex couple, but I wasn’t sure if the two women were dating or simply friends taking the class together. Did everyone there think Rome and I were dating? Married?
Whatever. They could think what they wanted. The only thing that mattered was jumping through Rome’s ridiculous hoops so I could save my job.
“Can you cook?” Rome asked, pulling me from my wandering thoughts.
“Oh. Um. Yeah.” I shrugged and dropped onto the tall stool that sat behind the counter. “I’ve been taking classes here and there for the past few years. Most of them have been Asian food. A little French cuisine. This is the first time I’ve ever attempted pasta.”
Rome’s face lit up. “We’re making pasta tonight?”
I nodded, my heart doing this weird tremble at that expression. “We’re learning to make fettuccine Alfredo from scratch.”
“And we’re going to make it from beginning to end, right? Like we’re going to eat it when we’re done?”
It was hard to swallow my chuckle. He was like a kid who had been promised a trip to a chocolate factory and was now wondering if he was going to get to taste any of it.
“Yes, as far as I know, we’ll be able to eat what we make. Assuming we don’t fuck it up.”
Rome’s eyes narrowed on me, and he pointed a finger at the tip of my nose. “No fucking this up. I love a good fettuccine Alfredo. We need to be good at this.”
Well, at least I knew he was going to pay attention to the teacher and not screw around. His stomach was invested in getting this right.
“Lots of couples here,” Rome murmured. I glanced over to see him inspecting the other students.
“Some of them could be friends,” I suggested.
“Nah. Just us.”
“What about them—” I pointed at the two women I’d spotted earlier, but my hand fell into my lap as the shorter woman stretched up on the tips of her toes to kiss her friend.
Rome snickered.
“Is it weird for you?” I asked softly.
“Being here with you?”
I shot him a repressive look. That wasn’t what I was talking about, though it wasn’t a bad assumption. “No, I mean dating. You said earlier that you’re pan. You go out one night with a woman, and then another night, you’re out with a guy.”
“What would be weird about it? They’re people. We go out, have some fun. If there are feelings, we do it again. If not, we go our separate ways.”
My shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “Yeah, but isn’t it easier to date only women?”
“No. I’m attracted to both. Why would I shoot myself in the foot, missing out on the love of my life because of their gender? That’s silly.”
I stared at Rome. He was still smiling, not offended by my questions in the least.
His eyes widened, and his grin turned into more of a smirk. “Oh, by easier, you mean other people and their reaction to seeing me with a man rather than a woman.”
“Yeah, I guess,” I mumbled, ripping my eyes away from him to gaze at the pristine countertop. “There are always going to be people who give you problems for being with a guy. Why put yourself through that?”
“That’s easy.” And then he said nothing because he was a fucking asshole.
“What’s easy?”
“No, your turn. Are you going to judge me and act like a shit if you see me out with a man?”