Book 17: Wild with Fever

Aris

The clock over the stove reads 12:57 A.M. Posey moves into view wearing a tankt op and shorts, her skin shiny with perspiration. She piles her hair in a bun on the top of her head. In the dim light of the kitchen, she’s all curves and skin, something soft enough to sink my teeth into.

I bite my lower lip instead, rolling the glass base of my half-empty bottle of beer against the kitchen island. She opens the fridge, scans the contents, and takes two steaks from the bottom self, already rubbed and salted, like cooking a meal in the late hours of the night was always her plan.

“You know you’ve cooked breakfast, lunch, and dinner like clockwork for the past two weeks. You were under no obligation to do that.” I fold my arms over my chest. Her eyes met mine in the hazy glow of the stove light. Thunder booms in the distance as a storm funnels ove