He gestured to the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the end of the counter. “Why don’t you pick out some music for us?”
McKenna connected her phone, scrolling through until she found a playlist she liked.
Tank didn’t recognize the first song, but he liked it. Especially, when McKenna started humming along, swaying in her seat.
“Who’s singing this?” he asked.
“The Jonas Brothers,” she replied, as the brothers sang about some woman loving them to Heaven. “It’s got a fun beat.”
He agreed, pulling the wok off the heat and crossing to her. She laughed when he grabbed her hand and started spinning her around the kitchen. McKenna kicked off her shoes, so she could slide in her socks, the two of them pulling out their most ridiculous moves as they tried to one-up each other. McKenna gasped when he dipped her—the big ending—placing a quick, hard kiss on her lips.
He lifted her slowly, stroking her flushed cheek with the back of one finger.
McKenna pressed her palms to her face, Home Alone style. “I’m red, aren’t I?”
“You’re gorgeous,” he replied.
McKenna grinned in that way that told him she didn’t quite believe what he was saying, but she liked it anyway.
She returned to her stool, and he put the wok back on the heat, sautéing the vegetables, scrambling a couple eggs off to one side of the large pan before heating the chicken and shrimp he’d cooked prior to the meeting. Once that was ready, he tossed in the jasmine rice and seasoned with soy sauce.
“It smells delicious,” McKenna said, as he placed a large bowl of it in front of her, before grabbing Yum Yum sauce from the fridge.
Joining her at the counter, they discussed what little they’d heard in this afternoon’s meeting while eating.
“This is so good,” she said, praising his stir-fry after they both polished off a second helping. “Do you think you would have chosen hockey as a career if you hadn’t been pressured by your dad?”
Tank had never thought about that. “Wow. That’s hard to say. I mean, hockey is all I’ve ever known, and honestly, I love it. But now that you ask…”
She gestured toward her empty bowl. “You could have been a world-famous chef.”
Tank snorted, then tilted his head toward the kitchen counter, covered with dirty dishes. “I think there’s a clean-as-you-go standard for chefs and there’s no way in hell I’d pass muster on that.”
She laughed as she acknowledged the pile of dishes in the sink and on the counter. “Your poor housekeeper. I swear it looks like you used every dish and utensil in your kitchen, just to make the stir-fry.”
Tank was very fond of Maria, and he paid her well because he really did put her through her paces, not that she ever seemed to mind. “She claims she has job security with me because she’s never shown up and been surprised by a clean house—with the exception of the nights I’m on the road with the team.”
“You’re lucky to have her.”
“I am. Why don’t we go sit on the couch? It’s more comfortable.”
“Aren’t you going to rinse the dishes?”
Tank didn’t reply. Instead, he just grasped her hand and tugged her toward the living room, while she snickered.
“You’re a heathen.”
They sank down on the couch together, Tank not bothering to keep a proper distance. He’d missed her too damn much this week.
“It’s getting kind of late,” she said, glancing toward the clock on his wall.
“No, it’s not,” he countered. Hell would freeze over before he let her leave without some assurances that she wouldn’t spend another week hiding from him. “You want to tell me what was going through your head this week?” he asked.
McKenna leaned back against the couch, blowing out a slow breath. When she didn’t reply right away, he said the one thing that had kept coming back to him, day after day.
“You said you wouldn’t regret what we did. Have you changed your mind on that?” He would hate knowing she regretted the single greatest night of his life.
“Yes and no.”
