How to Date Japanese Idols (The Tenshi Series) by Jaspers Cilia

Author:Jaspers, Cilia [Jaspers, Cilia]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Books With Benefits Press
Published: 2013-08-31T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

She woke up to the clatter of pots and pans. Gakino was alternately singing and whistling though the music he made was lost in the noise of his cooking and his occasional screams. “No. No. No. Calm down water. Calm down.”

Lifting her head from the pillow she squinted.

Then she heard, “Omuleto you are so beautiful. You will make her smile. Here we go, flip.”

She was tired, but she had to see this.

Gakino was here in her home for the second weekend in a row. The rare treat filled her with happiness. She swept her feet off the bed and pushed them into her slippers and shuffled out into the kitchen. Gakino’s long bangs were held back with her barrettes and he had on one of her pink aprons. He hummed happily as he worked. All was in line with Gakino’s sweet Japanese housewife routine—everything except for the fact that he cooked in a tank and boxers and looked yummy.

Hearing her come in, Gakino turned around and beamed a smile her way. “Ohayou!” Walking over to her with a pan and a spoon in his hand with what looked like the makings of pancakes, he spread his arms out wide to make room for her. She thought he was going to give her a quick peck on the cheek, but he leaned in and his lips sought hers. The kiss was powerful and demanding and she grabbed onto his shirt and leaned into him. Breathless, they stopped, his forehead resting on hers.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

She tried to whisper it, too, but the words were stuck. She gulped, thinking about last night. “Hi,” she croaked.

“Ok. Have a seat. Your breakfast is on its way.”

She watched him bustle about the kitchen. He was even more enthusiastic than usual. She didn’t know she had that many dishes until she saw them all spread out. He had used every single dish she had and, looking closer, she decided some dishes she hadn’t owned before. There were empty bags from markets and shops around her house. He had gone out buying groceries and dishes, too. Not a single bit of her counter space was available, and he had made enough food to feed her for a week, but she knew that he would eat most of it. His appetite for food was as large as his appetite for life. He had noodles and miso soup and pancakes and rice and sliced fruit, and bacon, and sausage, and what looked like hamburger patties in gravy, and bread. He was in the process of bringing plates to the table which was sagging under the weight.

“Sit down. Sit down.”

He brought her a glass of orange juice and then sat a plate down in front of her that, even with all the food piled high on the table, had two fried eggs and bacon designed into a smiley face. Then he sat down next to her and watched her eat.

She didn’t really care for ketchup, but it would be

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