Jules’ P.O.V.
But when his eyes scooted over my body again and he must have once again realized that I wasn’t wearing any clothes and just a very small and fluffy towel, he turned himself around once again.
Well,
that sucks…
“you don’t look like a chef to me.” I spat out the truth, wanting to kick myself in the head because out of all the things I could have said to him right now, that was what had come out of my mouth.
“Why don’t I look like a chef?” He laughed. And I shrugged, not that he would be able to see it because once again he had turned himself around, looking away from me as if he couldn’t stand the sight of me right now.
“Don’t all chefs have a gutbucket? Or love handles, at the least?” I answered him, hearing how he barked out another laugh, dropping his head back.
Go
