“None of you know how to cook? Seriously? It’s a basic skill, guys.” “No. But we like to eat,” Reed offers, looking me up and down. Why does everything these guys say feel like a double entendre? It’s because I’ve worked myself into a horny mess, that’s why. Still, the others smirk. And it feels illicit—so very fucking illicit. Or that’s how I’ll remember it tonight when I’m alone in bed.
