Free Informed Consent by Saorise Roghan

what little kids ate or drank.
      “No coffee, short stack.”   Andrew ruffled the boy’s hair.   “You guys get it together fast and I’ll
swing by the bakery on the way to school.”
    “You mean you’re driving
us?” Lucas looked suspicious.   William watched Andrew closely.  
    “You don’t need to do
that.”
    All of the boys looked
at Denise.
    Andrew looked too, his
hands still working the clasp of his satchel.   “I’m happy to, Denise.”
    “I wasn’t going to drive
them. I have a car coming.”
    “I’d like to,
Denise.   It’s not a big deal. It
will give us some time together.”
    “It’s not your
problem.”   She heard the
defensiveness in her voice and would have done anything to keep it out, but she
couldn’t.   They were her brothers,
her responsibility, and he was right about at least one thing.She needed to
step up and raise them better than her parents had.   She would do it.   She didn’t need him snatching the job out of her hands, all Mr. Head of
House, or whatever the heck he called himself.
      Andrew strolled across the room to her
and bent down to give her a kiss.   “I’m not criticizing, Denise.   Or trying to take anything away from you.   We’re a team, remember?”
      He brushed her forehead with his lips,
one hand squeezed her shoulder.  
    She jerked away from the
hand and the lips.   But not before
she felt the surge of heat and moisture.
      He ignored her reaction except to
calmly put his hand back on her shoulder, exerting the slightest pressure to
keep her anchored.   “Let’s go,
men.”  
    He stopped again at the
door.
    “Do you have plans for
dinner tonight?”
      Her head shot up.
    “I think we should plan
to eat together as a family more often than not.   Do you?”
    She kept her eyes on him
warily.   God knows what he was up
to now.
      Andrew shrugged. “Think about it, would
you?”
    He turned back to the
door, keys jangling.
      “I can make something.”
      “Hmmm?”  
    “Dinner.   I’ll make something.”
    She looked down,
frowning at the pad he’d shoved in her direction with the contractor’s
names.   “Around seven?”
      He flashed her the grin that had caught
her attention all those months ago -- before anything else, well, maybe the
chestnut hair had come first -- and he whistled as he went out the door.
    ***
    She wanted to kick
herself.   She was pathetic.   Easy.   Flash her a smile, give her a good -- make that a great
orgasm, make that three -- and she was bowing and scraping like a lunatic.   What had she done?   Offered to cook Dinner ?
    How the hell would she
pull that off?Stepping into the shower she gave herself a lecture.   She did have a brain.   She could look up a recipe on the
internet, figure out what to buy, and cook it.   Surely she could do that.
      Sitting on the bed, wrapped in a robe,
Denise powered up her laptop.   She
browsed one sight after another.   Everything sounded good, or nothing sounded good.   If the recipe sounded good it also
seemed very complicated.   Terms
like “fold into” and “caramelize” and “remoulade” and “bouqet garni” and
“chapelux” made her head spin.  
      Probably it would make sense to think of
a dish she liked to eat, that sounded easy, and then look up a specific
recipe.   Otherwise she might well
be sitting here when dinner time rolled around. There were those contractors to
call too.   The man was sure to
check up on her. She HATED obeying him.   Absolutely hated it.
    It didn’t matter that it
sounded like a good idea, something she would have liked to have thought of
herself as she wandered around getting depressed at the fact the house was crumbling
around their ears. Because he told her to do it she didn’t want to.
    Stealth mode.   She needed to go along as much as
possible.   Look at the debacle that
had fallen around her ears last night without even trying.   Her butt still kind of stung.
    Hiking up the robe