Simmering Love (Slow Burn Book 3) Read online

  It helps to envision Mason showing up with a bat after finding out I want to bone his cousin. Sue me. I’m a red-blooded male, and any straight guy is lying if he says that he hasn’t noticed Pepper’s … assets.

  I made a huge mistake, asking her to live here.

  I finish my strawberries before getting up to rinse out my bowl, and I put away the ice cream that Pepper left on the counter before rinsing her spoon off as well.

  Straightening, I roll my shoulders and then my neck, loosening the tension I’ve had there since I talked to my brother this morning. I still need to decide what to do about his situation. I hate being the mature one, the one with a good head on his shoulders, but it’s what I’ve always been.

  Pepper walks back in the room, talking a mile a minute, effectively pulling me from my thoughts. She threw on a crop top and jean shorts with tennis shoes and pulled her hair into a messy bun. I won’t be able to look at her all day when the promise of some belly exposure is always on the horizon.

  “Hello? Ben?” Pepper has stopped walking, and she’s waving her hands in front of my face.

  “Sorry. Sort of zoned out. What were you saying?”

  “It’s okay. I was saying, you might want to change yourself.” She raises an eyebrow at my outfit.

  I look down at the faded fire department T-shirt and basketball shorts I’m wearing and look back up, confused. “What’s wrong with what I have on?”

  “Oh, Benjamin. You are a fashion disaster. Come on.”

  She grabs my hand, and I fight the urge to wrench it from her grasp, as it shoots tingles up my arm and straight to my dick.

  Not good. Not good. Friends. Roommates. Mason’s cousin.

  She pulls me into my room, and I watch as she looks around, taking in my bed and dresser, the TV on top, and my bedside table with a stack of books, ten high.

  “You read?” She turns back to me and puts her hands on her hips.

  “No, those are my coasters,” I say with a smirk. “Yes, I read. I learned how to in elementary school.”

  “Not what I meant,” she says flatly and rolls her eyes. “I was just surprised. Most guys I know don’t ever pick up books.”

  “Must be hanging out with the wrong guys,” I tell her, crossing my arms.

  “Must be.” She starts worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she stares at my books. She startles me by clapping her hands and turning toward my closet. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got going on in here.”

  I watch her throw open my closet door, and she takes in the copious amounts of T-shirts I have hung up. A few pairs of jeans and shorts fill the remaining spots along with exactly two button-ups for special occasions and one sports jacket that probably doesn’t fit me anymore. My shoe rack holds three pairs of tennis shoes, my work boots, cowboy boots, and some loafers I haven’t put on since I wore the sports jacket. Her hands push hangers apart, and she runs deft fingers over each item of clothing, sizing it up before moving on to the next one.

  I walk over and sit on my bed, lying back against the headboard with my hands underneath my head. As she works, the little sliver of her tan back plays peekaboo with her crop top and tantalizes me as she rises to push clothes around. Finally, she pulls a shirt out, one of my newest T-shirts—sans holes and stains—a nicer pair of khaki shorts, and my loafers, and she sets them in front of me.

  “I’ll leave you to change,” she says with a smile before whirling to head out of my bedroom, the door clicking behind her.

  I stare down at the outfit, something I wouldn’t normally wear out to “explore” or run errands. I’m most comfortable in what I have on, but part of me fears the wrath of five-foot-two Pepper on a clothing rampage, so I swiftly change, spray some cologne, and run deodorant under both arms before slipping into the loafers.

  What is happening to me?

  Opening my bedroom door, I’m greeted by Pepper’s appraising stare as she hoists her purse onto her shoulder and then beams a grin at me.

  “Perfect. Let’s go,” she says, walking toward the front door.

  After a brief fight over who is driving, Pepper relents and climbs into my truck once she realizes she will be able to look around more if she isn’t driving. That’s fine with me. I don’t like to leave my life in the hands of other drivers. Namely, small women I don’t know. Much. If at all. But someone I very much want to know.

  “Where to first?” I ask as soon as I pull out of the apartment parking lot. When Pepper doesn’t immediately answer, I glance over and see her scrunching her nose up at her phone. “Hello?”

  “Oh, sorry. What? Oh, right. To Vanderbilt, please.” She turns with a smile.

  I raise an eyebrow. “To the school you aren’t attending?”

  “Yep,” she says, reaching over to buckle her seat belt and slipping her phone into her purse. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good enough,” she says with a chuckle. “My parents will be coming to visit soon, and they want a tour. So, I have to know where everything is. You’re my accomplice, and I’m swearing you to secrecy.”

  “That’s just a fancy way of you saying that I have to lie for you.”

  “Well … don’t put it that way. It sounds bad.”

  “Why don’t you just tell your parents? Hiding stuff from them will only end up causing problems when it all comes out.”

  “Who are you, the moral police?” She glares over at me.

  I throw one hand up in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  “Well, don’t give me a reason to shoot you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” She sighs and leans back against the seat.

  “I probably understand more than you know.” As soon as I say it, I regret the words. I don’t want to talk about my situation with my brother.

  I can feel Pepper’s eyes on me, but I don’t look over. Maybe she doesn’t care, or she doesn’t want to pry, but she doesn’t ask me any questions, and I let out a sigh of relief.

  “We’re here,” I tell her, pulling up to the outer edges of campus and parking.

  “Great. Let’s go to the office part of it. Do you know where that is?”

  We get out, and she puts her hand up to her brow to shield her eyes from the sun as she peers off into the grounds, as if she could see the administration building from here.

  “No clue.”

  I shove my hands in my pockets, and we start walking toward the closest building, Pepper chattering on about how pretty the bushes or some shit is. I just nod and occasionally drop back a few steps, so I can absolutely not watch her backside as she walks. After what seems like forever, we find the administration building, and Pepper stops in front of it to dig in her purse.

  “Here,” she says, handing me her phone and walking a few steps forward before turning back around to face me. “Take a picture of me to send to my mom.”

  She throws her hands up and grins wide, and I fumble around, trying to turn her camera on before raising it and snapping a picture.

  “You’re going all out for this lie, aren’t you?” I ask, mainly in jest but she still furrows her brow and scowls at me.

  “Look, I know this can’t last forever, but I just don’t want to deal with it right now. My parents expect me to take over Stratten Enterprises when I graduate, and I don’t want to see the disappointment on their faces when I tell them I’ve decided to be a pastry chef instead.”

  She takes her phone back from me and looks at the picture I took before opening her messages and sending it off to her mom.

  “Don’t you think they’ll be more disappointed that you lied?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they will be, but I’ve already done it. So, either way, it’ll be bad.”

  Her expression becomes shut off, and I feel upset for pressing her. It’s good to know that she knows what kind of fallout she’s facing though.

  “Ready to head back?” I start backing up before she grabs my hand
and walks up the steps.

  “Not so fast. We have to go inside for a second.”

  I nod and follow her, glad to feel her hand in mine for the second time today before realizing that I shouldn’t be glad and we shouldn’t be holding hands.

  Friends. Roommates. Mason’s cousin.

  “What?” Pepper stops and looks back at me, tilting her head to the side.

  I must have said it out loud.

  “Nothing,” I mutter, and she shrugs.

  We browse the main office for flyers and school paraphernalia before Pepper declares herself satisfied with her findings.

  “Hold on. I want to look,” I say, stopping Pepper as she heads for the door.

  She frowns in confusion before understanding crosses her face. “The master’s degree? You really are serious?”

  “Yeah, I at least want to look into it and see what all it requires.” I pluck a few informational flyers, and then we leave, heading back to where we parked, taking pictures at different buildings along the way.

  I start the truck up and listen as Pepper sighs once the cool air hits her face. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat, and she reaches up to pull her hair down from the bun, combing her fingers through it before leaning back over to put it up again. I stare at the slender curve of the back of her neck, having the sudden urge to feel her soft skin on my lips, before she flips her head back over and shoots a heart-stopping smile at me.

  “Where to now?”

  “To the Flip Grill.” She pulls her purse into her lap and fishes out her lip gloss, which she applies while I watch and act like I’m not watching until she clears her throat and pointedly stares at me.

  “Flip Grill. Got it.” I put the truck in drive and haul ass, knowing she definitely caught me staring. “Why are we going to the Flip Grill?”

  “Job application,” she says with a smile and a small bounce on the seat. “I’ve never had an actual job before. I’m pretty excited about it. I was always so busy with Mom’s charity work, which was amazing, but whenever I asked about getting a job, she would look at me like I was crazy. I don’t want to rely on my parents’ money anymore though. I want to have my own money that I worked for.”

  “Are your parents paying for your tuition?”

  “Yes, but of course they think I’m going to Vanderbilt,” she says.

  “Will you use that money to pay for culinary school?”

  She doesn’t answer, and I look over to see her staring out the window.

  “I’m tired of relying on someone else for everything in my life. I sold some stock I had in my family’s company, and I’m using that for tuition. I’m not touching the money they gave me. I want to know that I can make my own life and not have to ask my parents for money. I couldn’t even get an apartment by myself. I’m pathetic.” She wipes a hand down her face.

  “Hey,” I say, reaching my hand over and laying it on her thigh before really thinking about what I’m doing.

  We both freeze, and I can feel her gaze snap to my face. I keep my eyes on the road as I feel where my hand rests against her smooth leg, each of my fingers burning where they touch her skin. I slowly withdraw my hand and clear my throat, fighting the urge to shake my hand out and still the blood racing through it.

  “You aren’t pathetic.” I pull into the parking lot of Flip Grill and stop the truck, finally daring to look at Pepper.

  Her cheeks are flushed, and I can’t tell if she’s angry or not because I touched her without her permission.

  “Thanks,” she says as she opens the door and jumps down. She turns to shut the door, and before it closes, she gives me a wink.

  Well, fuck. What does that mean?

  “This is the last place,” Pepper says, glancing up at the storefront before grabbing her purse and reaching for the door.

  “It’s not a restaurant,” I say, eyeing the pottery shop with raised eyebrows.

  “Aren’t you observant?” Pepper laughs and looks back at me. “Want to come in?”

  “Might as well. I’m beginning to feel like your chauffeur.”

  “If I had a chauffeur, I’d want it to be you,” Pepper says and hops down.

  I follow her up to the door, holding it open for her to pass through, and I linger a little longer, sniffing the air to catch a whiff of her perfume as she moves by me. I see the pottery displayed on the shelves. There are families and couples and possibly what looks like a squad of sorority girls gathered around tables with paintbrushes, creating works of art. I’m totally out of my element.

  I look up and realize Pepper is already chatting with a girl at the counter, talking a mile a minute. She grabs a piece of paper and makes her way back to me, smiling. I can’t help but answer her smile with one of my own. Electricity crackles through the air, and I wonder if she can feel it too. I’ve had girlfriends in the past, short-term and long-term, but thinking back, I can’t remember feeling like this about any of them, and I don’t know what that means.

  “Ready to go?” she asks.

  My eyes meet hers, and I quickly blink, hoping my thoughts aren’t evident on my face.

  “Yep. Did you get what you needed?”

  “Sure did,” she says, waving the paper around in the air and doing a little jump. “Isn’t this place the cutest? It would be perfect for a date night.”

  She looks around, honing in on the couples. I give a noncommittal grunt, and she looks back to me.

  “What? You don’t agree?”

  “Didn’t say that,” I say with a shrug.

  “Do you not date?”

  “Not really anymore.”

  “A man of many words,” she says again.

  I crack a smile. “I’ve had girlfriends, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “Longest relationship?” She bumps me with her shoulder, and I look at her, furrowing my brow. “Wow. You really can’t remember?” She snorts.

  “Probably Carmen Stanley in college. We dated for a year and a half.”

  She nods and gives me a thoughtful look. “What happened?”

  “We just didn’t mesh. I don’t know.”

  “That’s a copout. Give me the real reason. I need the gritty details.” Pepper puts her hands out and curls her fingers back toward her, asking me to hand them over.

  “She was more focused on herself and what she wanted, which was fine. I just didn’t feel like an important part of the relationship, and then she decided to move home. I think she’s married now with a baby. I don’t know. My parents keep me up-to-date on it like I care about what she’s doing.”

  “So, when was your last relationship?”

  “Haven’t had a serious one since Carmen. What about you? Dated anyone since Chase?”

  She stares up at me, and I watch a small flush warm her cheeks, making her look so vibrant and alive.

  “Nope. I’ve been on dates but nothing that stuck. We make a good pair, Ben. Single and ready to mingle.” She wraps one hand around my arm and hugs her body up to me for a second before stepping back.

  We head toward the truck. I want to reach up and envelop her hand in mine, holding it next to me, but I let her hand stay on my arm, reminding me that I’m not her boyfriend.

  Friends.

  Roommates.

  Mason’s cousin.

  8

  Pepper

  I spent last night filling out job applications and poring over emails from my culinary school. It starts in a week, and I want to be ready. My excitement is mixed with apprehension though, knowing that I’m being so dishonest.

  Ben left for work before I woke up, so I have the place to myself, the whole day to myself. My phone rings, and I see Jules’s name flash on the screen. With a smile, I swipe to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Pepper, it’s Jules. How are you?”

  I can hear Ginny babbling in the background, and it makes me happy.

  “Wonderful. Just filling out some paperwork for school and job applications. You know, normal stuff.”
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  “Job applications? Why don’t you just work at the bistro some?” I can hear her mutter something in the background.

  Jules and Mason put in a coffee shop at my uncle Nick’s bistro, back at the beginning of the year. Nick’s ex-wife, Mason’s mom, is my mom’s sister. They aren’t close—at all.

  “I appreciate it, but I want to do this on my own. Show my parents I’ll be okay, you know?”

  “Just know that you’re always welcome there if the other jobs don’t work out.”

  “Thanks, Jules,” I say with a smile.

  We had a rocky start in the beginning when we met at a holiday party. Jules thought I was Mason’s date, and he didn’t correct her. But once she found out I was his cousin, she warmed up to me.

  “I wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow. Mason is off work, and he’s picking food up if you want something to do.”

  “I’d love to come for dinner, but let me cook. You and May need a break.”

  “You don’t have to cook at all,” Jules starts to say before I shush her.

  “I’m cooking. What time?”

  “Does six work?”

  “Six is perfect. Can I invite Ben?”

  “Ben, huh?”

  I hear her giggle echo through the phone, and I groan.

  “Shut up. It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “We’re roommates … maybe friends?” I’m not sure if I can even call us friends at this point.

  Can you be friends with someone you’ve only known for a few days, but you already want to rip their clothes off and trace their hard muscles with your tongue?

  Probably not.

  Jules is too busy laughing at me to answer my maybe question.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” I say, rolling my eyes. I look down and realize that my hand is balled into a fist, the tips of my fingernails cutting into my skin.

  “See you tomorrow,” Jules says before hanging up.

  Thankful that I finally have something productive to do today, I pull out my favorite lasagna recipe from my prized box of recipes that Grandma and I used to cook from. It has everything from breakfast pancakes to full-course dinner menus to delectable desserts, and it’s the one thing I can’t live without.