Anne's POV
My eyes landed on his abs, slowly drifting down to where his waistband ended. Veins ran down, disappearing beneath the waistband. I couldn't help but wonder where they led to.
I gulped again, subtly removing my eyes from his body down to my palms placed on my laps.
'Just kill me, Vincent!'
“Andrew, I didn’t know you were bringing a friend over,” he said to Andrew while wiping his face with the towel. “Hello Anne,” he said to me, with a small smile on his face.
I raised my face directly to his. I dared not look below, else he’d figure it out.
“Hi,” I choked out with a wave of my hand.
“Hey bro, I didn’t know you were home. Your car’s not in the driveway,” Andrew said, still shuffling through an array of movies on the streaming platform.
“I’m not on call till tomorrow and my car’s at the mechanic,” Vincent said, removing the towel from his neck, and dangling it casually.
“Okay,” Andrew said absentmindedly, “Uh.. we’re going to watch a movie,” he added, strolling over to sit beside me. “You can join us.”
‘Bad idea, Andrew.’
“I’ll pass. I’m going to take a shower then head up to the study. So, have fun.”
“Bookworm!” Andrew jibed.
“Dummy,” Vincent shot back. He turned to leave, but stopped and turned back, his intense eyes looking straight into my soul as if telling me, ‘I know what you're thinking.’ He had opened his mouth to say something but refrained from saying it.
“Nice to see you, Anne,” he finally said.
“Same here,” I replied, my voice coming out raspy. I could’ve sworn that granny voice belonged to someone else, because what the heck?
Two hours into a very funny movie that had Andrew and me reeling, Vincent walked down into the living room, now putting on a white polo and black track pants.
"I'm starving. Rita didn't come in today. Did you order anything?" he asked, heading straight for the kitchen. Cupboard doors opened and closed.
Andrew looked up from the couch. "Oops, I forgot. Lost track of time."
"I can make something," I blurted.
‘Great, Anne. Just great. You see abs, and a bit of veins and boom, you're already domesticated,’ my brain taunted.
Andrew stared at me with a wide grin on his face. Vincent walked out of the kitchen, coming over to look at me as well.
“What?” I asked, darting my eyes from Andrew to Vincent.
“You don’t have to, Anne,” Vincent said.
“I’m hungry too, you know? And this dude forgot all about food the minute we started watching this movie,” I gestured to Andrew who was sniffling away. “If you have groceries, I can prepare something,” I shrugged.
“Yay!” Andrew cheered, bouncing up and down, clapping his hands vigorously. “We have groceries, Anny.” He chanted continuously.
“Yea we do. Rita, our help restocked before taking the day off.” Vincent assured me.
“Okay,” I said standing up from the couch.
“I’ll assist you,” Vincent said, leading me to the kitchen.
“And I’ll stay here and watch another movie. You don’t need me there, it’s a complete disaster, trust me.” Andrew said, spreading his arms and legs.
“Why is that?”
“The last time he attempted cooking for us, he almost burned down the whole house,” Vincent answered.
“Oh.”
When we reached the kitchen, Vincent opened the refrigerator, and the grocery compartment, which were both filled to the brim with foodstuffs. He opened several other compartments.
"Okay, what do you need?" he said, gesturing with his hand at all the open cabinets.
"What do you have here?" I asked moving to check each opened cabinet.
"There are noodles, pasta, rice, beans, carrots, some vegetables, eggs," I counted, "You choose," I said, turning to stare at him, my lips twisted to the side, expectantly.
He looked from me to the open cabinets, then stretched out his hand and grabbed a pasta pack, bringing it in front of me.
I nodded and reached past him for the large pot hanging on the rail above the marble countertop. He moved aside to let me through. I turned toward the sink, twisted the faucet, and nothing happened.
I twisted it the other way.
Still nothing.
‘This is embarrassing!’
Normally, I wouldn’t have thought twice about asking for help, but somehow, standing close to him, after my eyes had feasted on things that had distorted my thoughts, I felt tongue-tied.
I glanced over my shoulder. Vincent had his back to me, reading the back of the pasta packet. Good. I turned back to the sink and tried again, this time pressing what I was fairly certain was a lever. A thin stream dribbled out and stopped.
Wrong one.
I tried the tall curved faucet with the long flexible hose attached. That one responded, enthusiastically, the moment I touched it.
Water exploded straight into my face.
I gasped, stumbling backward, grabbing the hose with both hands and trying to aim it anywhere else, but the pressure was ridiculous for something that looked so elegant. Water sprayed the counter, the window, my shirt, my face, everything.
"The… " I started, twisting the faucet the wrong way again and making it worse. "How do you… where is the…"
"Here," came a voice directly beside me.
Vincent reached out, and just as he touched the lever, the hose swung sideways.
The water hit him square in the face, before he could redirect the hose and turn it off.
For one long, suspended second, neither of us moved. We just stood there, heaving and dripping.
The only sound came from the loud movie playing in the sitting room.
“I’m sorry,” I said, looking up at him, my hands heating beneath his, still wrapped around the faucet.
He shut his eyes and raised a hand, wiping the water from his face.
A drop slipped free, trailing down… past the side of his lips, down his Adam’s apple, which bobbed as he swallowed.
My throat went dry.