Free Young Love (Bloomfield #4) by Janelle Stalder Page A

was neat, I thought, as I looked at my place with her. It wasn’t as homey looking as her place, but I was a guy. I wasn’t one to go out and buy knick-knacks and shit.
    The layout of our places were the same, except flipped. My bedroom shared a wall with hers, while my kitchen sat on the opposite side. The living room had a simple leather couch and chair in it, with a dark coffee table, and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was comfortable for me.
    Walking past her, I went into the kitchen to drop the bags of groceries I was still holding on the counter. I heard her move to the other side of the breakfast bar, her eyes watching me as I started to unpack.
    “You good with tacos?” I asked, looking up at her.
    She was biting her damn lip again. This girl was going to kill me one day. She nodded, seeming slightly uncomfortable. I didn’t blame her. Things were always strained between us. There wasn’t much I could do about the kiss we’d shared before, or how I found her undeniably attractive. But I could try to smooth things over so we could at least be friends.
    “You look like you’re about two seconds away from bolting,” I teased, switching the stove on as I placed a pan over the flame.
    “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she replied.
    I snorted. At least she was honest. “I’m sure we can manage to hang out without things being awkward, Honor.”
    “Okay,” she said, sounding unconvinced. She sat down on one of my bar stools and watched as I got the meat going before turning to the counter to start chopping veggies.
    “It’s just two friends having dinner together,” I said.
    Her brows lifted as her lips twitched. “Is that what we are now, friends?”
    “Sure, why not? We have mutual friends, so we might as well try to be. It will make things less awkward when we all hang out.”
    She hummed under her breath. I didn’t know what that meant.
    “Do you always cook dinner for friends?” she asked.
    “When I see them standing alone and dejected looking out in the hall, yeah.” I glanced up at her, that furrowed brow back. “Want to tell me what’s really bugging you?”
    “Not really.”
    I chuckled. “Fair enough. What class are you teaching tonight?”
    Her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Acro,” she answered. “And then I have to practice my solo.”
    “Do you have a competition coming up?”
    She nodded. “At the end of November.”
    “You’re an amazing dancer,” I said, my hand faltering. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud. When I looked at her, she simply smiled at me.
    “Thanks,” she said.
    The tension left me as I continued to chop the tomatoes. “Are you going to try out for a dance school like Perrie was talking about? I bet you would make it.”
    “I don’t know,” she said, settling back. I liked that she was slowly becoming more comfortable. “Mom always wanted me to, but I already got into BU. If I tried out for any of the larger dance schools, I’d have to transfer and move further away. It’s just a lot of hassle.”
    “Yeah, but you’d be doing what you love,” I pointed out.
    “I’m fine doing what I’m doing now,” she said.
    “It wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe if it was an option, you’d think differently.”
    She tilted her head side to side, as though weighing the idea in her mind. Those perfect teeth peeked out again to nibble on the corner of her bottom lip. “Maybe,” she said, snapping my attention away from her mouth and back to her eyes.
    “Is Jeanie in your class tonight?” I asked, grabbing some plates for us.
    “Yes she is,” she said with a warm smile. “She’s an awesome little girl.”
    “Of course she is,” I said. “She’s related to me.”
    She chuckled. “Right. That must be why.”
    I gave her a quick wink, not missing the way her cheeks blushed slightly. I set out the food, letting her build her own taco. We stood side by side in the kitchen, stuffing the shells in the first