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For her first real time living out from in under her parents’ roof, Kiara thought she’d settled into her routine pretty nicely.
She was still taking her obligatory classes, with a focus on environmental science, just so they couldn’t bitch about her lack of degree when she hopped aboard that marine biology field study in Australia. She had a roommate who cultivated their collection of potted plants with as much love and lack of skill as she did, and a plan to start a recycling program for the apartment complex practically drafted up.
For the most part, Kiara already loved their little apartment. It was crammed, and a hell of a lot older than anything her parents would have picked out, which was partially why she and Sarah had pounced on it so fast. It turned out semi shitty parental relationships were an even better bonding topic than their plant collection.
And now, it was a Saturday morning, she was reasonably caught up on homework, and she was going to actually make breakfast instead of shoving a granola bar down her throat. There was a special kind of cleanse to be earned from making something from scratch, and she very much believed in cleanses.
She was halfway into the kitchen, her mind settled on a nice, fluffy batch of pancakes, when she noticed the sound.
Snores.
A tuff of blonde hair poked out over the arm of the couch, and for one wild moment she thought it was Sarah, but no. Sarah was home for the weekend, and this tuff of blonde hair led to a toned, distinctly man back, which was halfway wrapped up in their expensive Pottery Barn quilt.
The dude’s limbs were splayed like a starfish, and the light hum of his snores still floated to her ears. He looked for all the world like someone taking a nap on his own couch.
Kiara held back a scream.
Her hands reached for the nearest weapon she could reach: her skillet. She toed towards the strange man, halfway convinced she was in some sort of fever dream.
Kiara knew the thing to do was call 911 immediately. Had heard countless stories of unpredictable, dangerous men murdering women, because they lived in one twisted patriarchal society, and that was just the sort of shit that happened.
But then the mass on her couch stirred, the quilt sliding to the floor. Two eyes blinked at her, squinting against the light, and he smacked his lips together, surely getting drool all over Sarah’s overpriced throws.
She did the sensible thing and brandished her pan at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
The boy on her couch stretched an arm behind his head. Blinked at her some more, as if she was the one inconveniencing him. “Mornin’,” he drawled.
“Do you know Sarah?” she demanded.
“Who?”
Kiara hardened her glare. “Why are you on my couch?”
“Guess you kicked me out of the bed.”
“Excuse me?”
Couch Boy’s eyes remained sparkling, his smirk lazy. His gaze zeroed in rather obviously on her legs, which were way too bare in the oversized sleep shirt she was wearing. He breathed out a laugh, as if anything about this situation was funny. “Fuck. I must have been totally shitfaced to forget you.”
Kiara’s scowl deepened, and she held the frying pan out further, despite the fact that her heart was already slowing its frantic march in her chest. The boy was making no move to threaten her, and her fear was rapidly being replaced with irritation.
“You were if you think I slept with you,” she snapped. Pointedly ignored the biceps straining under his t-shirt and the line of his jaw that looked pretty enough for her to draw. If she were aiming to bring someone home for a one-night stand, he would’ve fit the bill ten times over.
Couch Boy appeared to notice the skillet for the first time. He flinched, but it may have also been from the light. “Jesus, would you stop pointing that thing at me? It’s making my headache worse.”
Kiara lowered the pan, but mostly so he could see the look on her face. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that.”
He ignored her, squinting down at the crystal lighting up the coffee table, and then at the plants in the window. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, shit. Which apartment number is this?”
“317…” Kiara said, and the pieces slowly began to click into place.
He ran a hand through his hair, eyes widening. “Fuck. I’m 319.”
This was her neighbor. She’d never seen him around before, but she hadn’t seen most of them, just yet. She hated to admit that there was no way she wouldn’t remember running into him.
Couch Boy threw his golden calves over the edge of the cushions, and Kiara followed the movement down to two feet: one socked, one with a mangy black boot half unlaced. He fumbled around the floor, digging out a second combat boot from under her coffee table. How convenient that he’d taken the time to throw off a shoe, but not to check that he was in the right fucking apartment.
“I, uh, lost my keys,” he said, in a way that told her this had happened before. He drug his second boot on. “The last time I slept on the bench someone threatened to call the cops on me, but if I wiggle the lock up I can usually get in.”
Kiara’s attention shot to the door, which was safely closed, like nothing was amiss. She’d have to remember to deadbolt it, just in case her next couch crasher happened to be Ted Bundy junior.
“Shit,” she managed, and that just about summed it up.
“My bad,” he said, standing and throwing up a little salute at her as if he’d bumped into her cart at the supermarket instead of broken into her apartment. He inched around her on the carpet, and the fact that she didn’t feel the need to move away was a real testament to the absurdity of this situation.
Kiara kept her frying pan in hand, though, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down to it. When he reached the door, officially a safe distance away, he wiggled the handle.
“You should really get that checked out.”
“Deadbolt.”
The boy whistled. “Feel that. See you around, neighbor!”
And then he was gone, the only sign that he had disturbed her peace at all being the quilt strewn across the floor. Kiara stared at the couch, then down at the skillet she was clutching so tightly that her knuckles were growing white.
She crossed the room in three strides and swung the deadbolt into place.
Sarah thought the story was hilarious, because of course she did. She hadn’t been the one scared shitless.
But looking back, it was kind of funny.
Kiara still rolled her eyes every time Sarah pointed at one of the other tenants, whispering, is that him? Had rapidly shut down her idea of camping at the peephole to wait for the door to 319 to swing open.
She was bound to see him again at some point, but she wasn’t rushing matters.
The communal laundry room at the apartment complex was a tiny cube, with stark white walls and a flickering light that looked like the perfect setting for someone to be murdered under. They had only been there a few weeks, and already she found herself cursing every time it was time to gather her clothes in her basket and haul them down the stairs, but she’d take all the sketchy laundry rooms in the world over asking her parents for money for appliances.
It was only fitting that Kiara run into Couch Boy again in such a place.
She had her elbow propped on one of the dryers, waiting. There were ten minutes left on her clothes, but anxiety and fear of creeps pawing through her things always had her rushing down before her timer went off. She’d managed to shave away a bit of the wait by pinning some of her community recycling flyers to the notice board out front, but now all she had left to do was wait and scroll through Instagram.
She didn’t notice him appear, just shot to attention when a voice said, “Oh. Frying Pan Girl.”
He was standing in the doorway, a big ball of clothes just wadded up in his arms in lieu of a laundry basket. If she squinted, Kiara was fairly certain there was a ratty towel in there, as well.
She pulled a face at the name. “Couch Boy.”
He shrugged, like he was considering it, and there was a flash of what might have been a surprised grin. “You have a comfy ass couch.”
Couch boy maneuvered around her to the second washing machine, and the line of his shoulders seemed stiff. He darted a glance at her, then went back to dumping his clothes into the machine, pouring a few drops of something that looked a little too like dish liquid for comfort in after them.
He was just as good looking as she remembered, unfortunately, with his long blonde hairs sticking up in every direction and a set of arms that would make just about anyone interested in men take a peek. He was even better in this non-hungover state.
“I swear to God, I thought I was about to be on 48 hours,” Kiara said.
Couch Boy adjusted the controls on the washing machine, hardly even looking at what he was doing. He gestured towards her with one hand. “Hey. No one on 48 hours ever broke in to take a nap, I’m just putting that out there.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have been worried like at all.” Kiara found herself fighting a smile.
“No, see, the real killers come in perfectly invited—“
The shrill ping of Kiara’s alarm cut him off midsentence, and she scrambled to turn it off. Yanked the dryer open, feeling around for her clothes to see that they had indeed gotten dry.
“Clothes are ready,” she explained, and he tilted his head down at her. He seemed in no hurry to leave, even though he’d all but finished starting his laundry.
“Well,” he said, watching as she tossed clothes into her basket. “Guess this means I’ll see you later, Frying Pan Girl.”
Kiara shot a little glare over the dryer lid. “Stop calling me that.”
“What should I call you, then?” he asked, all casual, hands in his pockets. He leaned up against the washing machine, looking at her from under his lids.
Kiara’s lips thinned into a line as she leaned into the dryer, making sure she wasn’t leaving any clothes behind. One lone, unsexy black bra lingered, and she snatched it, taking care to tuck it away towards the bottom of her pile.
She emerged, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with her free hand. “Uh, Kiara.” Then, on a whim, she decided, “Kie.”
Couch Boy nodded. “JJ.”
“Cool,” she said, because it wasn’t like she was going to say nicer to meet you when you aren’t currently breaking and entering. She nodded at the washer, mustering a little sarcastic half smile. “Alright, well good luck with that.”
Kiara was almost totally out of the room before she made a decision, spinning on her heel and cursing herself the entire time. She fished a spare flyer out of the side of her basket, where she’d shoved them, and held it out towards JJ.
“Here,” she said. “It’s for the complex.”
JJ blinked down at the flyer, squinting a little like it was taking him a second to process what he was looking at. A slow smirk spread across his face. “Oh, I get it. You’re like a tree hugger.”
Kiara once again froze her effort to leave. She could feel herself glaring again, but JJ didn’t appear fazed. “If by tree hugger you mean I care about the future of our one earth, then yeah.”
“I figured.”
“You figured?”
JJ remained unbothered by her prickliness. If anything, his smirk widened. “Yeah. You know, like with the crystals and shit in your apartment. It fits the vibe.”
It was amethyst, and it happened to be great for relaxing her energy. She considered snatching the flier back, but as if sensing her thoughts, JJ inched backwards, crossing his arms and folding the flier over with the motion.
“Whatever,” Kiara grumbled, and she did leave, then.
JJ was cute, but she bet he loved single use plastic. Maybe even as much as he loved breaking into strange women’s apartments and scaring them half to death.
Kiara really didn’t think having a recycling bin in the apartment complex should be something they had to rally for; it should be a given, the bare minimum.
But here she and Sarah were, on a Saturday morning in the lobby with a sheet for signatures and plate of Kiara’s brownies for the due bribery. It was going as well as expected, for a selfish apartment building of Americans.
Mrs. O’Neill and her two children signed, but Kiara suspected it was at least partially for the promise of brownies. A couple of other college girls were glad to contribute, as well as Charles from 211. His beady eyes flipped back and forth between both their chests the entire time he’d talked to them, and he’d already been back twice.
They hit a low point when a middle-aged lady in a blonde bob craned her neck towards them. She tutted, offering a plastic smile. “Oh, a recycling bin?”
Sarah was in hostess mode immediately, leaning on their little table set up. She was by far the best at attracting signatures, which Kiara vehemently blamed on her own resting bitch face.
“Yes m’am,” Sarah said.
The lady’s eyebrows rose, but the smile didn’t vacate her face. “Don’t two pretty girls like you have something a little more fun to do with your time?”
Kiara cocked a brow. “Not when our earth is dying, no.”
The lady was unaffected by her tone. She shook her head. “Hate to see that school brainwash you all.”
Sarah nudged Kiara aside before she could go on a rant. “And we hate to see those shoes with those pants, but we don’t comment on it, do we?”
The lady was totally taken aback. Her mouth bobbed up and down, and Kiara was struck with a rush of love for Sarah. A reminder of why she didn’t tend to mesh with other girls her age, but how there was most definitely an exception to every rule.
“Well—Good luck getting people to sign your paper with those attitudes! I’ll have a word with management about you.”
“Have a nice day,” Sarah called after her.
They hardly waited for the lady to round the corner before erupting into incredulous laughter.
“Oh my God. Was she serious?” Kiara breathed.
“What a bitch,” Sarah said. She clutched her stomach. “I have to pee. If Charles comes back, scream.”
“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about that.”
Too soon for Sarah to have returned, a shadow fell over her table. Kiara glanced up, her best Sarah-like smile in place, but she forced it away just as quickly. Fought the real amusement tugging at her lips.
“Oh. You,” she said.
JJ had come. She knew it was on purpose, because there was a familiar, significantly more rumpled piece of paper sticking up out of his pocket. She wasn’t sure how to process this, but a little burst of something like hope fluttered in her chest.
He was still staring back at her, expression as close to deadly seriously as he could manage. “Well, it’s just so nice to see you too, Kie.”
A second boy trailed behind him, chocolate curls tucked under a cap in a way that would be the envy of all the frat boys of her nightmares. There was some weird neck scarf garb around his neck, and Kiara really didn’t know what that was about, but it was hard to focus on that in the face of his blinding grin.
“This is Kie?” The boy looked delighted, and JJ was quick to shove at his chest.
“Shut up—“ JJ turned back to Kiara, a lazy smile of his own in place. “My roommate, John B.”
“Hi,” Kiara said, slowly, eyes narrowed between the two. She tried to calculate why the ‘B’ was necessary.
“Nice to meet you,” John B said, and he seemed so genuinely happy, it was impossible to glare at him. He bent over towards her information sheets, reading them over. “Hey, nice! I love trees and stuff. We’ll totally sign for you.”
She handed him a pen, for the good of “trees and stuff”. Her attention was yanked away once again by JJ.
“You got brownies?” He peered in the pan, way too close to be innocent. Not that there was anything innocent about him to begin with.
Kiara yanked the brownies away from his hovering fingers. She shot a pointed look to where John B was writing his name. “I don’t think so. These are for people who sign, only.”
“Are you trying to bribe me with desserts?” JJ asked. “Because it’ll probably work.”
“Of course I am.”
“That’s gotta be illegal, or something,” he said, even as he reached for the pen and paper from John B. He scribbled down something hardly intelligible on his line. “Bribery. Not a good look.”
“Thank you. Now y’all can have one,” Kiara said, relinquishing the pan. They didn’t hesitate; JJ went straight for the center, and John B pried out a corner piece and shoved it into his mouth.
A groan rose in John B’s throat. “You made these?’’
Kiara couldn’t help but grin. She typically preferred cooking to baking, but Sarah never made anything that wasn’t out of a box, and her brownies were pretty damn good, if she could say so herself. “Yeah.”
JJ let out a similar moan of pleasure, and Kiara shoved down the feeling that stirred in her stomach. Focused on the finger John B was pointing at her instead.
“I just want you to know that I was not the one who broke into your apartment. Remember that next time you make these.”
“Hey, no—Kie and I are buds, right Kie?” JJ was quick to argue.
“Just besties,” she deadpanned, and John B snorted.
“We should petition for better soap next—“
Sarah’s voice echoed down the hall, then very abruptly cut off at the sight of the two boys crowding their table. JJ gave a little wave, and Kiara shrugged.
“Uh, this is my roommate Sarah,” she said, because a blanket of silence was suddenly smothering them, and she felt like she was supposed to. “And this is JJ and John B.”
Sarah ran a hand through her hair, standing up a little straighter, and Kiara knew that look. It was dialed up to a 100, locked straight on John B.
“Hi,” Sarah said.
John B didn’t appear to be any better off. He wiped a brownie crumb off his freckled cheek in some poor imitation of smooth. “Hi.”
Surprisingly enough, JJ’s eye caught hers, and one single thought passed between them: Oh, fuck.
Sarah and John B went from strangers to girlfriend and boyfriend, totally and completely attached at the hip, in the blink of an eye.
Kiara was quickly finding herself with fewer girls’ nights and more time for homework, or for looking for a new project to pick up around the complex now that the recycling bin had taken off (With much reluctance from their landlord). On some nights, she even holed away in the library at totally unacceptable hours to avoid being stuck privy to the goings on in Sarah’s bedroom, but she’d completely and totally put her foot down that night.
She’d had three classes and a lab exam on top of volunteering for cleanup at the local park, and she was fucking exhausted. She couldn’t wait to throw on some pajamas and watch a few episodes of Bake Off.
Unfortunately, a break for Sarah’s roommate happened to mean hell for John B’s.
Kiara was almost upon the shape on the floor before she noticed him, nudged right up against the wall next to her door. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she might have screamed had she not realized who it was.
“Shit!” Kiara hissed. “If you don’t stop lurking—What the hell are you doing?”
JJ’s head lifted up off the wall. His eyes were hazy, like maybe he’d been attempting to nod off, and his legs were splayed in front of him. “What do you think?”
Kiara did a quick metal calculation. Her lip curled up in disgust. “Oh, gross. Can’t they keep it in their pants for like five minutes?”
JJ cocked his brow, like obviously the fuck not. And he wasn’t wrong. The two of them were worse than bunnies, stuck in a honeymoon cycle for weeks already with no end in sight.
“I think we should start, like, charging them rent when they’re in the wrong apartment,” he said, and then his eyes drifted over her. “You could probably afford another recycling bin.”
“I could afford a hundred if I charged them for trauma,” Kiara said, and a surprised laugh bubbled out of JJ.
She blinked down at him, finding herself grinning, too. Focused on where his calves were brushing the carpet, and then pointedly shoved her keys in her door. “Do you have any idea what’s been on that floor?”
“Better than what I know is in there, I can tell you that right now.” JJ jutted his chin in the direction of his apartment. He shifted the position of his legs, like he was getting more comfortable.
Kiara hovered in her door, keys still dangling out of the lock, and okay. She knew exactly what it was like to be in his position, and it really sucked. At least she’d had someplace else to go.
She rolled her eyes, huffing. “Oh my god. Come in.”
JJ’s head jerked in her direction again, hair falling into his eyes. He shoved it back up with a hand. “Wait, are you being serious?”
“Yeah,” she said, throwing the door open wider, and something about the motion felt final. Inevitable, even. Still, when he scrambled to his feet, she added, “Don’t worry, I still have my pan.”
He held up his hands, dimple flashing. “Not to worry. I’ll be very good.”
Kiara doubted that.
She flung her bag onto the counter, and JJ hovered in her living room, hands in his pockets like someone afraid he was taking up too much space. The posture looked incredibly unnatural on him.
“Sit down,” Kiara suggested. “I was just gonna watch some TV or something.”
He plopped on the couch. Paused, and stared at her. She stared back for approximately three seconds before bursting into laughter, and his answering grin was blinding.
“Hm. Might not be as comfy as I remember.”
“Whatever. That’s the best couch you’ve ever seen.”
Kiara perched next to him, ultra aware of his body next to hers even though she was careful to leave several inches between them. It was uncomfortable and too comfortable simultaneously, and she snatched up the remote with false casualness.
She queued up Netflix, and it took approximately three seconds for JJ’s amused voice to bounce in her ears. “Baking shit?”
“It’s relaxing, and Sarah likes to watch it too,” Kiara argued, even though she felt her cheeks heating. She flicked viciously through the titles, stopping with a smug flourish on one of the crime documentaries.
His eyes swiveled in her direction, cheek flopping against the couch. “Never gonna let a man forget it, are you?”
Kiara grabbed a pillow to settle in a little more snugly, smirking to herself. “Nope.”
The evening was more enjoyable than she was prepared to admit. JJ liked to talk, a lot, especially if it involved some dramatic, no-way-in-hell-it-happened theory about who had killed whom on the show. But his commentary was surprisingly entertaining, and there was no lull like she usually experienced with new people.
One second, her brain was buzzing with warmth and way too much humor for someone watching a murder documentary, and the next, a large hand was shaking her shoulder.
“Kie.” JJ’s voice was lower than normal, and his breath tickled her ear. A little thrill of pleasure tingled down her neck, and she was warm. So warm. “Kie, Sarah’s home.”
He sounded a little awkward, like he was asking for permission to leave. Kiara squinted, and the room swam a little more into focus. She very abruptly realized the pleasant heat she felt was from her cheek pressed to JJ’s shoulder and raised up just as quickly.
“Oh. Sorry,” she offered, because he wasn’t quite meeting her eye. Was busy smoothing down his wild strands of blond hair, gaze darting to somewhere over both their heads. It didn’t seem like he’d fallen asleep.
Kiara twisted on the couch, and sure enough, Sarah was standing in the kitchen, pouring some of her fruity powder flavoring into her water bottle. It was painted in white and gray marble, a little art project the two of them had done together months ago, but it left Kiara a perfect view of the way Sarah’s brows were popped up. Of the smile she was wearing that promised interrogation later.
“Hey,” Kiara said, ignoring this. She gave Sarah a look of her own. “Good night?”
Sarah’s lips twitched further. “Yeah. What about y’all?”
They shared a glance. Quickly looked away again.
“If ever go missing like this shit, I’m calling you guys,” JJ said, hand gesturing at the TV as he talked. “It’s almost midnight. John B doesn’t even know I’m not home.”
“No, I mean, he knew,” Sarah tried.
“How are you gonna call us if you’re missing?” Kiara squinted her eyes at him, the brief awkwardness from before already beginning to dissipate.
“Look, I’m just saying,” JJ said, unaffected. He pulled himself off the couch, and his eyes drifted back to Kiara, reading into something she couldn’t quite discern. She felt her what the fuck face from before melting away under his gaze.
JJ gestured towards his mouth, jumpy. “You got a little…”
Kiara wiped her chin furiously. “I do not.”
She was wondering if maybe she should chase him out with the pan again, but he was already gone, carrying Sarah’s ringing laughter with him.
JJ stowing over at Kiara’s apartment became something of a ritual. Binging crime docs, a little of Bake Off, or sometimes even random shit he liked to watch, like River Monsters. Occasionally, she’d venture over to his place, where he seemed unembarrassed by the piles of clothes thrown in odd places, or the tacky little Sasquatch statue manning the entryway (“Um. Is that supposed to be Bigfoot?” “He’s sacred, Kie.”).
It was like some fragment of her life had clicked into place, as stupid as that sounded. If Sarah was the rain to her hurricane, then JJ was a puzzle piece she hadn’t realized she was missing.
Building genuine relationships of her own was still a learning curve for Kiara. She’d spent most of her childhood and early teenage years floated around parties with practiced smiles by a mother with mostly good intentions, but genuine laughter and long nights that didn’t make her want to stab her eyeballs out were still new to her.
And the wanting, born out of more than a stray impulse or the knowledge that her parents would hate it (Even though they would hate it. God, would they hate it)? Kiara wasn’t quite sure what to do with all of that.
Another morning of not thinking about it was drowned out by her engine sputtering to life, screeching like a dying animal and then ebbing off again.
She revved it a second time, because she had class in half an hour, and fuck.
“Shit,” Kiara muttered, because she didn’t need this this morning. She slung her door open, popped the hood and glared inside.
Typically, she and Sarah liked to carpool whenever possible to remain as green as they could, but Sarah had left thirty minutes ago because her class was on the opposite end of campus to Kiara’s. There was no way she could come back and pick her up.
Kiara was calculating whether it was possible to either call someone out to take a look or book it to some public transportation in order to make it in reasonable time for her class when a familiar voice called out to her.
“Yo, you good?”
JJ was watching her from across the parking lot, dressed in a faded work shirt and his trademark boots. She’d learned that although he was her age, he didn’t go to school, but worked probably way too many hours a day at a garage downtown. He was cagey and quiet if she ever asked much about it, but Kiara respected not going to college. It was a capitalist institution that fucked as many people over as it served, as far as she was concerned.
“Just wonderful,” she called back, her frustration leaking into the false cheer she tried to instill in her voice.
She knew he was on his way to work, but he appeared at her side anyway, peering down under the hood. “What’s going on?”
“I think it’s the starter,” Kiara said, because believe it or not, she was not totally clueless around an engine. She was better with boats, but she had a vague idea of how things worked, and she’d sorted things out on her own before.
“I think you’re right. Goddamn.” He sounded impressed. Just as she was debating whether asking if there was anyone from his shop she could call, he said, “Hang on a sec. I can fix ‘er right up.”
And before she could protest, he’d disappeared back into the building. He emerged a minute later, ratty bag in hand.
Kiara stared at it. Moved aside as he dug inside for a wrench.
“You don’t have to—“
“Uh, yeah, looks like I do,” JJ interrupted, pinning her with a look that said she was insane. “She’s not gonna run anytime soon if I don’t.”
She crossed her arms, shuffling from foot to foot. “I don’t want you to be late for work.”
“I don’t care about being a couple minutes late, Kie. If I can’t help out my friends I’m an even bigger piece of shit than I thought,” he said, and her mouth snapped shut.
He leaned over the car, screwing a bolt into place, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration. His oil stained t-shirt stretched across his chest, biceps bulging, and Kiara couldn’t even force her eyes away to pretend it wasn’t stupidly hot.
He gave another experimental twist, then tapped his free hand on the edge of the hood. “That should get you to school just fine, but you should probably bring it by the shop later just in case.”
Sure enough, when she tried again, the engine roared, sounding almost totally normal this time. Kiara climbed back out of the car, only making a bit of a face at the sight of him wiping his wrench on his t-shirt.
“Thanks,” she said. Worked her lip, mind racing. “Um, I’m making pasta tonight, if you wanna join. As a thank you.”
It felt heavy. Like a step forward, somehow. They’d indulged in pizzas and Chinese takeout on many occasions, but she’d never cooked.
JJ’s eyes landed on hers, slowly. The wrench still twisted in his hands
“You’re cooking?” he asked, and something echoed in his voice.
“Yeah.” She forced her smile wider, like it was no big deal, even though something in her brain was screaming. “It’s Sarah and John B’s three month anniversary. But if you don’t want to—”
“I do,” he was quick to cut in. “God. Please.”
“Cool.”
“Uh.” He scratched his ear. “What time should I show up?”
“Whatever time they leave, obviously.”
John B and Sarah on a date was dangerous grounds. They’d be “going out”, but then boom, somehow they’d appear making out on some unfortunate kitchen counter fifteen minutes later. Kiara very much intended that not to happen to her counter that night.
“Yeah, I hear that.” A crooked smile split JJ’s face, twisting her stomach into something painful and ridiculous. “See you tonight.”
Kiara thoroughly banned Sarah from the apartment (“No, I don’t give a shit what your hormones tell you, if you want to have sex, go to his apartment.”), and in exchange, Sarah conned her into a flowy little sundress that made Kiara’s legs seem to go on for miles. For her Not Date, of course.
“This is way too much,” she complained, tugging at the fabric.
She looked good, but she wasn’t even sure what JJ thought of tonight. Wasn’t even sure what she thought of tonight, aside from the fact that she very much wouldn’t mind jumping his bones. For the majority of their little television binges, she’d changed into pajama shorts and a cropped tee halfway through, and suddenly showing up in a dress wasn’t exactly subtle.
Sarah cocked an eyebrow, arms interlocked. She was dressed to the nines, with thirty minutes’ worth of makeup and a dress that made Kiara’s look like a playsuit. “Exactly.”
John B arrived right on the dot, complimented Sarah in a voice filled with such genuine awe that Kiara couldn’t even muster the energy to be annoyed. And then they were gone, leaving her with her increasingly nervous thoughts and a pile of mostly prepared ingredients while she waited for JJ.
She was cutting up her pan of brownies, because, yes, okay, he’d really seemed to love them last time, when a knock rapped against her door. Two seconds, and then another knock, and another.
She swung open the door with a practiced eye roll.
“Oh, there you are,” JJ said, leaned up against the doorframe all innocently. “Was starting to wonder if you weren’t home.”
“Mhmm. Get in.”
Kiara shuffled aside, gesturing for him to come inside, but he’d paused, eyes glued to the area somewhere around where her dress brushed the middle of her thighs. The air stuttered in her lungs.
The moment was over before it had begun. JJ cleared his throat, hiding a little grin behind his fist, and strode inside. “You uh, look nice.”
A comeback caught in her throat, something alone the lines of me or my legs? or it was for my class today, but something warm, a feeling that should’ve belonged to a third grader with her first crush, rippled through her.
She settled on, “Thanks.”
Kiara wasn’t sure if her eyes were deceiving her, but JJ’s hair seemed a little fluffier than usual, as if maybe he’d bothered with some of John B’s product. His eyes flitted around her apartment, nervous, like he was a new guest again. They landed on the kitchen.
“Smells good.”
She’d poured the ragu over to begin heating up while she waited on him, and she figured now was as good a time as any to get a start on the pasta. “God, it better taste good, too.”
He followed, leaning up against the counter, arms crossed and attention rapt as she attempted to bring some water to a boil. His grin was distracting enough that she was immensely grateful she’d already gotten most of the prepping out of the way.
“Well, my options are usually hot pockets or Mickey D’s, so.”
Kiara wrinkled her nose. “Disgusting. I get it, but disgusting.” Maybe because she a little bit missed her parents, annoying as hell as they could be, or maybe a little bit because she felt like she’d known JJ for forever, she added, “My dad always made sure I could cook.”
JJ gave a tiny, impressed shrug. “Nice. Mine hardly made sure I ate.”
And he said it with a little breath of air, like maybe it was supposed to be funny, but it landed totally wrong, twisting any hint of good humor off Kiara’s face. JJ was resolutely not looking at her, like he was already regretting letting it slip, his shoulders braced together.
She forced herself back to pouring her pasta over. Kept her voice light. “Well, I expect a shit ton of compliments, then.”
Something eased out of JJ. Kiara filed this all away for another time, should he ever wish to bring it up.
His hand hovered in the air over the ragu, but his eyes were trained on her face. She fell for it despite herself, hissing and shoving his hand away. “Hey, dumbass. Do you want to get your hand cooked?”
“I just wanted to taste your cooking, Kie,” he said, tapping his knuckles against the countertop and looking so damn cute she couldn’t help but sigh.
“You are so annoying.”
Kiara popped him with her hip, nudging him over a fraction so she could dig out a spatula. She shoveled a tiny bite of the sauce onto it, cupping her palm underneath to prevent spills and holding it out to him expectantly.
JJ’s eyes flicked to the spatula, to her smiling face, and back again. He leaned forward, and she was quick to say, “Wait, blow on it!”
He gave a halfhearted puff of air. Yelped to himself when the sauce singed his lips, and Kiara could hardly hold the spatula through her laughter. His free hand closed over hers, steadying the food enough so that he could finally take a bite, but she’d sobered immediately, all her senses zeroing in on his fingers looped around her wrist. On how big his hand was compared to hers.
“Mmm,” he moaned, and Kiara’s stomach twisted.
She hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten.
Close enough to where she could count the shades of blue in his eyes. Aquamarine, cornflower, maybe even a few flecks bordering on green if she squinted. Their breaths were mingling; she could lean forward and kiss him, if she wanted.
Something in Kiara chickened out. She swallowed, twisting a little to toss the spatula back into the pan, but his grip hadn’t totally slackened around her wrist.
When she swiveled her face back towards him, a million little comments on her lips, his mouth was suddenly on hers.
She let out a surprised sigh, and the hand on her arm crept down to draw little circles on her palm, his other one somehow appearing to cup her cheek.
It wasn’t what she was expecting.
His mouth was hot and soft against hers, but there was something a little probing about it, too. He was measuring her reaction, and his thumb was both lovely and callused over her cheekbone, holding her a little like glass. The cool metal of his ring was a pleasant shock to her skin.
Kiara had hardly had time to kiss back before he pulled away.
JJ’s eyes darted over her face, his own drawn into apprehensive little lines. It was almost expectant, like he was waiting for her to turn him down, and as the seconds ticked by, it crept like a cloud over his expression.
She fisted her hand in the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him back in for a deeper, searing kiss.
The contrast was instantaneous.
His mouth pressed harder against hers, the hand on her cheek tilting her head back for a better angle. He was all hard lines and scorching skin against her, and before she knew it had happened, Kiara’s back was pressed against the counter.
Her hands stretched out over his broad shoulders, and the movement brought him somehow closer against her. She let out a little unintentional moan into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he muttered. Any butterflies she’d felt before were enveloped by the rapidly rising pool of heat in her stomach.
JJ seized the backs of her thighs, lifting her up until her butt met the hard kitchen counter. Her dress hiked dangerously far up her thighs, and it probably had ragu stains all over the back of it now, but Kiara didn’t care.
His hand was skating higher, higher, higher on her thigh, but his pace was snail-like. Kiara slung a leg around his waist, hoping he’d get the hint, but he just grunted into her mouth. Gripped the area above her knee in a way that had her core smoldering.
Just as Kiara was seriously considering taking his hand and directing it exactly where she wanted it, a shrill, horrendous beep cut through the air.
JJ jumped back from her, eyes darkened and hair askew, leaving him looking thoroughly kissed. This combination paired with the alarm on his face had Kiara releasing a snort of laughter.
“Shit.” She dropped her leg from around him, stretching across the counter to wrap her fingers around her phone. “It’s my timer. Pasta’s ready.”
Kiara slid off the counter, feeling very heated and very undignified, to decant her pasta. JJ’s gaze stuck to her like glue, and it was a miracle her hands weren’t shaking. A bigger miracle she didn’t say fuck the pasta and pull him back towards her.
“Wasn’t planning for that in the middle of cooking,” she complained, voice still breathy.
Kiara realized her mistake before she’d even caught sight of his shit-eating grin. “So you’re saying you planned this?”
“No—“
“You invited me over for a meal to take advantage of me.”
Kiara fixed with him her best unimpressed look, but something loosened in JJ. His presence was light and oozing happy, and his fingers danced over her hipbone as she tossed the pasta and the sauce together. Settled more firmly on her when she leaned into him a little.
She was scooping them out two generous helpings when she felt something warm and feather light brush across the back of her neck. She stilled, every nerve in her body on edge.
The pasta would stay warm long enough.
Kiara woke up, and she was alone.
The quilt pooled at her feet on the sofa, because they’d only made it to her room the first time, of course. There’d been touches everywhere; against the counter, the wall, but as if by some ironic force of nature, the longest, most lingering ones had ended on the couch.
Payback for Sarah, as far as Kiara was concerned.
Or at least it had felt that way last night. Wild and uninhibited as her laughter when she rolled over to shoot her friend a warning text, JJ’s mouth at her shoulder and his arm wrapped around her middle.
But now, she swallowed, slowly pulling herself into a sitting position.
She’d thought there had been something of an understanding between them, what with the dinner and all that. But maybe that had been silly of her, she thought. Forced herself to remember how she’d met JJ in the first place, wasted on this very couch, thinking she was a one night stand, because apparently he had enough of those to make that assumption.
Whatever panicky thoughts she had evaporated as soon as a familiar voice snapped her out of her sleepy stupor.
“Oh. You’re awake.”
JJ’s blond head bobbed at her from the kitchen. He flicked a hand through his hair, and quickly shuffled something around on the counter. Even from across the room, she could read his nerves.
“Morning,” she mumbled. Offered him a half smile that she hoped didn’t come across too relieved.
Kiara wiped the sleep out of her eyes, slung her legs over the edge of the couch, and made her way over to join him in the kitchen. All she wore was JJ’s faded gray shirt, but considering the activities of last night, she doubted he’d mind.
She was met with a mess almost more horrible than the result of Sarah trying to cook.
Pots and pans were strewn everywhere, way more than anyone needed to use, and JJ shoved a plate under her nose.
“I, uh, tried to make pancakes, but that did not go according to plan.”
That explained the scorched smell floating to her nostrils, then.
Kiara looked from the plasticy eggs and toast, to the way JJ was running his fingers through his hair repeatedly, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Scorched smell and all, something overwhelmingly fond landed in Kiara’s chest.
“Thanks.” She took the plate, offering him a shy smile. “Next time I can show you how?”
And if felt a little like tossing down roots, wrapping and writhing beneath the ground, but maybe they’d already been there, slowly being nurtured for months. Kiara didn’t think she was mad about it.
A grin spread across JJ’s face, uncontainable. He looked at the floor, rubbing his nose, like maybe he didn’t want her to see, but then he was fixed on her face again.
“Probably a good idea.”
Kiara whipped another pancake onto the pile, despite the fact that it was nearly seven thirty at night. She’d found recently she could be a bit of a convert to breakfast for dinner, under the right circumstances.
As if on cue, the door twisted and swung open, causing the familiar scent of oil to mingle with the buttery air from her pancakes. A grin pulled at her lips.
JJ meandered in, a grease stain on his cheek and his coveralls half unbuttoned to reveal a stained white shirt underneath. He caught sight of Kiara, spatula in hand, and sniffed the air. Let out a borderline unholy moan.
“Oh, fuck. Is that pancakes?”
“Maybe.”
He was in the kitchen in a flash, smacking a sweaty kiss to her cheek that was mostly sweet, but also had her a little bit debating abandoning the pancakes altogether. He reached out for a plate, and she had the presence of mind about her to mock tap him with her spatula.
His arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her into his chest, and his words ghosted over her neck when he muttered, “That shit’s not as scary as the pan.”
“Oh?” Kiara said, leaning into him. The pancakes were rapidly becoming less and less appealing. “Would you rather I use the pan?”
Something silver flashed in his free hand. He dangled the key in front of them, right over her heart. “Pretty sure it’s illegal to threaten a man in his own apartment.”