He knew when I said almost that it meant less than three days. That was all I was giving myself. If everything was to go right and Rabid got the call tomorrow, then this should be all wrapped up in three days. Then I go back to my awesome and amazing life… alone.
I laid back down, pulling the blanket up around my shoulders, tightening it as a shiver went down my back, and I became cold down to my bones.
I was good alone. That's how I do my best work. I don't need anyone else but myself.
There was a dull ache in my chest that wouldn't go away, so I just kept repeating those words over and over in my head. It continued until my eyes closed and darkness took over my brain, but the ache never lessened, no matter how many times I said those words.
I woke up smiling into a heater that smelled like the woods on the first day of a morning dew, fresh, crisp, and clean with a hint of pine. Arms circled around me in a vice, and it was hard for me to want to leave. I took another sniff, smiling when I opened my eyes and saw Gears knocked out. He didn't come to bed until the early morning, and I knew he needed his sleep.
I tried to wiggle out of his arms slowly, but they just tightened. Well, this was an awkward situation. I had an idea and grabbed my pillow and rubbed my hair and face all over it. Then I threaded it through his arms between us and moved down while his arms tightened over my pillow. The real test was when he buried his nose into the pillow and didn't wake up.
I slipped down the end of the bed, making sure I landed lightly on my toes and padded my way across his room. I looked back and smiled. For a second I thought about how I was going to miss this, and then shook my head. I shouldn't waste time thinking about such things.
Just like most mornings, all the guys were still sleeping, all except the one that was in the kitchen cooking up a storm. I peeked in and saw Mr. Cranky Pants mulling around the kitchen, cursing up a storm. I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from laughing so hard.
Suddenly, there was a thud that sounded before one of the kitchen doors swung open with a knife embedded into it. My eyes were wide in shock, but my mouth curved up into an excited smile as I heard him yell, “Which one of you fuckers is out their making fun of me?”
I grabbed the knife and yanked it out as I slid into the kitchen with a grin. “I wasn't making fun of you. In fact, I was having a grand old time hearing you curse at…” I looked down at the saucepan full of red liquid, “your sauce.”
He was holding a wooden stirring spoon and started to stir again while he glared at me. “Well, you can just see your way out.”
I wasn't deterred as I crept closer to the stove. “You know, I’m a great taste tester.”
He paused his stirring for a second, looking at his sauce before shaking his head. “No. You will taste it when everyone else does.”
I stuck my bottom lip out and pouted as I cocked my hip. “Awww.” I let my shoulders sink and slowly turned away, looking sad and pathetic.I hope this works.
Right before my hand touched the door, he called out, “Look, if you need something to do, you can cut up the tortillas. We are going to need a lot, and I need to keep stirring.”
I turned around and beamed at him, making my way over to the spot that had the corn tortillas, a cutting board, and a large chef's knife. Before I even picked up the knife, he called out, “Cut them into fours and use all three bags.”
I looked again at how much he wanted me to cut, and I felt like it was the bacon situation all over again. I trusted his judgment and twisted open the first bag, grabbing a small stack before I cut them into fours.
We stayed like that for a while, just prepping and cooking in silence, until he mumbled out, “I'm sorry if I hurt you.”
I swear, if I didn't have the abilities I had, then I wouldn't have been able to hear him, and that would’ve been a shame. I smiled to myself as I kept cutting. “Don't worry about it. I liked it.”
I heard a clicking sound followed by a “Shit!” I looked up to see the wooden spoon on the floor and a big red splotch on his shirt. He quickly threw the spoon in the sink and looked down at the stain on his shirt. “Fuck,” he looked at the ceiling as he clutched at his shirt, “This was fucking new, too.”
I set down my knife and made my way over to him. “Do you guys have white vinegar?”
He looked at me like I sprouted five heads but pointed at the cabinet underneath the sink. “In there, but why-.”
He stopped mid-sentence as my hand slid up his sides and tugged on his shirt, trying to get it off. “Come on. Take it off. I am excellent at taking out stains.”
He finally let me tug the shirt over his head, and I immediately headed for the sink, pulling out the white vinegar, and found a small ceramic bowl. Time was of the essence with this kind of thing. I ran the water, putting dishwasher soap on first, circling it around until I got a good lather, and washed it out. Then I took the white vinegar, poured it into the bowl with some water, and sunk the spot with the stain into the bowl. “We are going to need to let this soak for about ten to twenty minutes. Then the stain should lift.”
I turned and was met with a solid, stunning, naked male chest. The definition of his muscles were impressive this close, and I wanted to trace the lines with my tongue. I was in my own little daze of sluttiness when his voice breathed out, “How did you know to do that? I can’t envision someone like you cooking enough to know how to get stains out.”
“Blood.” I looked up, expecting to see his growly self. Instead, it was passive, almost like he didn't know how to proceed with the conversation. “I get enough blood out from clothes that I am a stain pro.” I smiled so wide all my teeth were on display. I then turned around and went back to my station, leaving the stunned man and his delectable body.
“I'm almost done with the tortillas. By the way, what are we making?” He took his sauce off the heat and set it to the side before he pulled out two large cookie sheets.
“We’re making Chilaquiles.” I had never had this dish before, but with all the ingredients he had already cut up, I had a feeling my hot sauce-lovin' ass was going to enjoy it. He bought over the sheets. “Put all the cut tortillas here. I will have both of us cook them.” I did as he asked, making two piles of tortillas on each sheet as he pulled out two more pans and filled them with cooking oil as he turned up the heat.
I brought them over, and he took his sheet. “All you need to do is put a handful of the cut-up tortillas in and flip them continuously until they brown, then take them out for them to cool and repeat.”
I nodded. “You got it, Boss.” We worked like this in silence again, but it was fine with me. I enjoyed this kind of repetitive work because, in the end, you got to see the fruits of your labor.
