He realized suddenly that he was staring. He spoke.
"So do you cook often?"
She gave him an amused look. "You kidding. For who. I've been in
a dorm, chowin' on junk food and studying for the last three
years."
"Then how'd you learn all this stuff?"
"Easy. All you have to do is follow the directions. Besides, I'm
a quick study." She met his eyes and held his stare, as if
challenging him. Until a bell chimed. "Pizzas," she said with a
delighted smile, breaking their link, which had felt to him a
little weird but not exactly unpleasant. Just,
well...significant. Careful, he warned himself.
He watched her slip on an oven mitt and told himself he should
really look away as she bent over to retrieve the appetizer. Her
breasts, he could see, were not large, yet were ample enough to
illustrate gravity. They reminded him of the firm doughy rounds
she had worked beneath her fingers minutes ago. As she reached
inside the oven a little burst of heated air gently raised a few
stray wisps of her hair, and an instant later the delectable
aroma of her creation wafted his way. He swallowed.
Then something about her startled him and he felt his throat
abruptly tighten.
As she was rising, holding the tray in one hand, she swept her
hair aside with the other, and he had the opportunity to see,
just for an instant, inside the collar of her shirt, in back of
her neck.
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