Strike (23 page)

Love you, Mum xxx

After about thirty minutes, I finally agree on something I think I can handle, and I really hope it’s something April will like. I make a shopping list and duck down to the shops for ingredients. Of course, I need everything.

What should have taken ten minutes takes an hour, but I find everything I need. I hate grocery shopping. It’s torture. Especially when you’re looking for shit you never buy. Thank Christ I took the afternoon off, otherwise we’d be eating at midnight.

Two and a half hours later, my house is filled with the smell of home-cooked food. Not a microwave dinner or takeaway kind of smell—this smell is something completely foreign to my apartment. It almost reminds me of home.

Mum’s an awesome cook, and I could have called her. She would’ve got a real kick out of helping, but when April asks me if I cooked dinner, I wanna be able to say one hundred per cent
yes
. Not
yes, but I had to ring my mum for help
. She’d laugh her arse off and would no doubt pay the shit out of me for weeks. I have my pride.

I look around at the mayhem that is my kitchen, and laugh. Now I see April’s problem. This cooking business is messy. But I cooked shit. Shit that looks pretty damn good, if I do say so myself. I congratulate myself on a job well done, and get to cleaning up. I can’t give April a hard time about how messy a cook she is and have her turn up and see this. I want it to be spotless.

I look at the clock. Five o’clock. An hour before she gets here. I think it’s going to take me that long to wash up. I let out a loud sigh. This shit is exhausting, but tonight I’m fuckin’ king of the kitchen. Hell yeah!

But first, I need a beer.

****

After buzzing April into the stairwell, I practically pounce to answer the door. I swing it open and watch as she climbs the stairs, her smile kicking my heart into gear. In typical April fashion, she’s wearing a tight white tank top, spray-on blue jeans and motorbike boots. Her hair is wild, but her smile is wilder. Sexy as all get-up. I’m a lucky, lucky man.

“Hey, you,” she says leaning against me when she reaches the doorway, loudly smooching my lips. She drops her backpack and helmet inside, and hands me a grocery bag. I take it and put it on the nearest table as I pull her into my arms.

“Hey, beautiful. Welcome to my castle,” I whisper into her ear. Her sweet, teasing perfume has me closing my eyes for a moment to take it in. I squeeze her in my arms, not wanting to let go just yet. Damn, she smells good. All delicate and fruity-like
. Delicious
. I can’t wait for a taste. I nip at her jaw until my lips meet hers.

“Dessert smells good,” I say against her lips.

“What do you mean?” she says, acting all innocent.
Like she doesn’t know.
It only makes my dick harder.

“
You
smell good.”

“Oh. Right. So, I packed us a little surprise for dessert. I couldn’t resist.”

What’d she get?

“You gonna share the details now?”

“Nope,” she says and smirks.

I shake my head.
Tease.
“Come on, beautiful. Dinnertime,” I say proudly. “Kitchen’s this way.”

April picks up the grocery bag and follows me. Her mischievous smirk distracts me enough that I bump into the wall on the way. April laughs and I slap her on the arse, making her squeal.

“Hey, watch it.” She walks over to the fridge and puts the bag inside. I’m desperate to know what she’s got in mind.

“There’s a bottle of white wine in the fridge if you wanna open it. Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get dinner sorted.”

April ties her hair up into a bun, and moves over to the small timber dining table. She cracks open the bottle and pours us each a glass. As she takes a sip, my nerves grow. She’s watching my every move. This gamble had better pay off.

After a few minutes, I take our plates over to the table. If I do say so myself, it looks awesome. April leans over the plate and makes a little purring noise as she breathes it in.

“What do we have here?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“Chilli con carne with rice and sour cream.”

“This looks amazing. You cooked all this on your own?” she asks, her eyes full of hope.

“Yep,” I say, resisting the compelling urge to pound my fists on my chest like a caveman. “Dig in, then.”

I watch her as she gets a bit of everything on her fork, and wraps her mouth around it.

“Mmm,” she mumbles, but then her eyes go wide, and she stops chewing. “Fuck me, Spencer! This shit is hot!” She fans her mouth before sculling her glass of water.

“What do you mean? You can’t handle it? It’s only supposed to be mild.”

“You obviously haven’t tried it, then. Didn’t you taste it while you were cooking it?”

“The recipe didn’t say to. And I know, because I read it about a hundred times.”

“Aw, that is
so
cute, but seriously, you’re head’s gonna explode,” she says, laughing and coughing, tears rolling down her face.

“Come on, you’re just taking the piss. It’s not gonna be that hot.”

“Okay then, Mr I Just Learnt To Cook Hotshot. Taste that shit and wait one minute before you take a drink of water.”

“Sure,” I say, accepting the challenge. I load up my fork and shovel it in my mouth.

The burn doesn’t waste any time. Like a wildfire, it spreads relentlessly from the tip of my tongue, infecting my whole mouth. Blood rushes to my face, and after about five seconds I race to the fridge and scull milk straight from the carton. It takes the edge off, but still burns like a motherfucker. April is in hysterics, bent over in her chair. She sits upright and gasps for breath, wiping beneath her watery eyes. I wipe the milk from my top lip.

“Why would they make it so hot? That’s just all kinds of wrong.” I swallow, trying not to dry-retch.

“
You
made it, Spencer. No one else to blame here. Where’s the recipe? I have to see this shit for myself.”

I take the open cookbook over to her, and lean over her shoulder. She mumbles each ingredient as her finger traces down the page.

“How much chilli powder did you put in?” she asks.

“Just what it says. Two tablespoons.”

“Show me the spoon you used.”

I grab one from the drawer. April bites down on her bottom lip and shakes her head.

“You see this
t-s-p
?” she says pointing to the recipe, next to the words
chilli powder
.

“Yeah,” I say and shrug.

“That means teaspoon, babe. Not the big-arse spoon you’ve got in your hand.”

“Same difference.”

She throws her head back and laughs like she might just wet her pants.

“No, babe.
Big
difference when it comes to chilli.”

I scowl at her, but can’t fight the smile from spreading across my face. I love hearing her laugh. That let-it-all-out kind of belly laugh that just makes me want to kiss her. Doing that might also get her to shut up.

“Fucking disaster,” I mutter under my breath, pulling her out of the chair and into my arms.

She smooths her hands over my chest, my nipples perking beneath my shirt. “No, it wasn’t a total disaster. I love that you at least tried.” She looks around the kitchen, her eyebrows pulling together suspiciously. “I can’t believe you managed to keep the kitchen so clean, though.”

“We don’t all cook like you,” I blurt out.
Although I wish to hell I could.

“Hey,” she says poking hard at my chest. “I get results. Don’t knock the method.”

After today I’ll forever shut my mouth. This girl’s a genius. I kiss her softly on the lips and let out a long breath. “Well, what the fuck do we eat now?”

“Let’s see what you’ve got.” April shuffles around the kitchen, checking out the contents of my fridge and pantry. She assembles a pile of ingredients on the bench.

“There’s enough here if you want me to whip up an omelette? Otherwise we can eat out,” she says and smiles.

“Omelette sounds good.” I take another swig from the milk carton and put it back in the fridge. “I couldn’t be fucked going out now. All this cooking has taken it out of me.”

“Aw, you poor boy. But your work’s not done yet. Why don’t you start chopping up some capsicum, and I’ll do the rest?”

I grab a knife and stare at the capsicum. For a little too long. How the hell am I supposed to cut it? I open my mouth to speak and then shut it again. She’ll think I’m a dumbarse if I ask.

April stands on her tippy-toes, her lips to my ear. “Little squares would be good,” she whispers.

I smirk at her and start cutting. At least she didn’t kick me while I was down. I lean across and kiss her on the cheek as she cracks eggs into a bowl. I like being in my kitchen a whole lot more with April in it.

“So, I asked Dad about taking off next week, and he was okay with it. We’ve got a new guy on board, so I guess it’s not gonna cause him too many dramas. I thought we could spend a bit of time on the beach after the comp.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I’m dying for a bit of sun. Are there any nudist beaches up there?” she asks. I put down the knife and stare at her.

“You’re serious?” I ask.

“Yes. I went to them all the time overseas.”

“Even if there
is
a nudist beach, you’re not goin’ anywhere near it.”

“And why not?” she says, putting a hand on her hip.

“I’m not sharing.”

She smiles and bats her lashes. “How am I supposed to get a proper tan then?”

“We’ll request a top-floor apartment with a private balcony, or I’ll buy you some fake tan, Whatever, but I’m not sharing. End of story.”

“Say
please
and I might consider it.”

“Pretty fucking please, April, with sugar on top: no nude sunbaking.”

“You could do it with me, you know—”

“April,” I growl.

“Fine, caveman, no nude sunbaking … this trip.”

My body shakes in silent laughter, and I get back to chopping the capsicum. I love that this girl’s got some fight about her.

****

After the best omelette I’ve ever had and a couple of glasses of wine, we retreat to my bedroom. April falls back onto my king-sized bed, and then smooths her hand over the mattress. I unbutton my shirt, but all of a sudden her smile falls and her body tenses. She sits up, and tangles her fingers together in her lap.

“What’s up?” I ask, searching her face for some clue as to what’s going through her head.
It’s just a bed.

“Nothing. I’m … I’m good,” she says. A smile returns to her face, but it’s as fake as they come. Something about the bed has got her rattled.

Oh, fuck
. The women. She’s probably thinking about how many women have been in this bed. And that’s fine, because I’ll tell her the truth.

I sit beside her and take her hand. “This is a new bed, April.”

She chews on the inside of her cheek. “Oh,” she says, barely above a whisper. “How new?”

“Like, a month or something. No one’s slept in this bed but me.”

I haven’t brought a girl back here since I’d gotten it. The last chick in my apartment was the redhead.
Crazy bitch
. Thank Christ I live in a secure building. She’d certainly taught me a lesson about bringing ladies home.

April is different. I want her here. I need her to be a part of my life.

I move close to her, leaning my forehead to hers. I pin her with my gaze, and she leans back and relaxes into the bed.

“Wait,” I say. April’s forehead creases in confusion. I take the band from her hair, loosening the bun on her head. She lays back, her caramel locks spreading over the bed. It’s fucking magical.

“Mmm. I’ve been waiting to see you like this on my bed. I just need naked and the picture will be complete.”

I slide my hands up her ribcage, pushing her tank top up to reveal her perfectly smooth stomach. I dip my tongue into her navel, and grab one of her tits roughly in my hand.

April groans and writhes beneath me. “Ready for dessert?” she whispers, and then runs her tongue over her bottom lip.

“Hell yeah,” I mumble against her lips.

“Go and get the little bag from the fridge,” she says quietly.

Fuck yeah, things are about to get interesting
.

I rush out and grab the bag and hand it to her.

She crooks her finger at me and I hover over her. “Give me five minutes and dessert will be ready,” she says in a husky voice. She bites down on my ear and growls.

“Hurry up. I’m fucking starving.”

We both chuckle together, and I slowly walk from the room, watching her every step of the way.

“Go on! Get!” she yells, throwing a pillow in my direction.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

* SPENCER *

I go into the bathroom and decide to take a quick shower. I’d worked up a sweat in the kitchen. Who knew? Besides, it’ll make the time go quicker. I shower and dry myself, but don’t put any clothes back on. I knock on the bedroom door.

“Come in if your pree-tee” she calls out.

I laugh as I enter, but then my heart stops and my body freezes mid-step.

April is the most delicious looking work of art I’ve ever seen. Not in my wildest dreams could I have imagined this shit up. Swirls of whipped cream are looped in a pattern up her legs, over her stomach and her tits. With her hands behind her head, she smiles like she has the dirtiest secret ever. The cream is dotted with the occasional raspberry or blueberry, and there’s a thin stream of chocolate sauce in tiny circles, which I think are meant to be love-hearts, in between them. But the thing that really gets me hard is the little love heart of whipped cream between her legs. She won’t know what hit her when I feast on that sweet pussy. Damn this girl.

“Hungry?” she asks.

I close my mouth, wiping the drool from the side of it. As if I could help it. I swallow the lump in my throat and remind myself I need air. I simply nod.

“I’m hoping you’re not too attached to these sheets, because shit’s about to get messy,” she says.

“I’ll buy a new set. I love messy.” Especially an
April
kind of messy.