“Yeah, pretty much.” He leaned with his back against the opposite counter from where I worked. Thankfully, our bodies didn’t touch. “So, boss me around, kitchen lady.”
“Hmm. I need the flour again. Could you grab it? It’s on the fridge.” He set it down on the counter and I placed garlic and pepper in front of him. “Mix the spices in the flour for me.”
“How much flour and spices?” he asked, his brow drawn in concentration. I hated how cute he looked. He put one hundred percent effort into the smallest thing. I could only imagine seeing him on the mound.
“Wing it. The amount of flour doesn’t matter.” I placed the mixing bowl in front of him, but he ran his hand over his jaw, a line appearing between his dark eyebrows.
“Uh, I need directions that are more specific.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “I get it. I needed that too when I was learning. Here. Watch.” I put the flour in the bowl. “This doesn’t matter—you have to have enough spices in it to make it proportional.”
“That makes sense.” He grinned at me and held my gaze for two seconds too long. He looked at me as if we were more than friends even though we’d only known each other for a couple of days. I broke his gaze, snagged the pepper and garlic and handed them to him.
“Pour them in, maybe a spoonful or two, and mix it.” He did and I watched him. The expression on his face was perfect. It was a mixture of concentration and something I couldn’t tell…but he clearly enjoyed learning.
“Have you made anything like it before?” I poured the beer into a bowl, the chicken breasts open and raw next to it. I pressed them into the beer and snuck a glance at him.
“I’m not the best with cooking. I’m good with boxed instructions.” He shrugged and a small smile formed. “How did you learn to cook?”
“My dad.”Part of his teaching-me-to-support-myself obsession.I’d hated the weekly lessons, but cooking had slowly grown into a passion. I’d never admit it to him, though, because he’d brag.I grasped my beer and took a swig. The burn of the liquid calmed my nerves, which were going haywire around him. “Now, after it soaks for a little bit in the beer, you are going to grab one of the pieces, dip it in the flour until it’s covered and place it in the pan.”
“Me?” His hazel eyes widened.
“Yeah, you. You wanted to help. I’m going to boss you around.” He nodded and focused on the task. His large frame became adorable in the small kitchen, the bowl almost as big as his hands, and yet he held it all so delicately.
He began the process and I nodded. “Good, keep going. Now, try not to spill flour everywhere. If it gets wet, it’s a bitch to clean up.”
“Good to know.” He did a fairly good job of dispersing the spices onto the chicken and I went to find the butter. We were going to cut it into small pieces to put on top of the chicken so they’d melt into it. It made it a tad bit tastier.Plus, I love me some butter.
“Done. What’s next?” He turned to me with the biggest smile on his face, I warmed, all the way down to my toes.Damn that smile.
“Butter.” My voice cracked, but I spun around hoping he wouldn’t notice. I held a knife and went up next to him. “Watch.” I cut a small square and placed it on one of the breasts. “You got the rest?”
“Yup.” He took it from me, our fingers touching. I sucked in a breath at the contact and quickly took a drink of my beer. He gave me a knowing smile. He’d seen my reaction.Damn it.
“Game started!” Greta’s voice broke our trance and I retreated into the back of the kitchen.
“Go watch the first inning. How long must I put it in for?”
“Hmm. It needs to be an hour. You can time it on your phone. The first batch will be done soon.” I checked the clock and saw it was seven. We would eat late, but oh well. Good company for the most part.
“I’ll finish this. Go.” He winked at me and I stormed out of the room. Greta and Aaron shared the couch while Tanner chilled on the floor. Jeff sprawled out on the recliner, which left the sofa. A sofa built for two people.
“Let’s goooo,” I chanted and heard chuckles around me. “I know you guys play and all that, but they aremyteam. My house, my team, my rules.” I glared at all of them, even Greta.
“What kind of house rules?” Aaron asked.
“We drink when we throw strikes, we double clap when we get a hit and make the motion for riding a horse when there’s a homerun.” I went through the motions and Zade walked in, almost crying with laughter. “All of you have to follow.”
“I’m a Tigers fan, though, so ain’t going to happen. It goes against who I am.” He plopped right down next to me, our arms inches apart. I retracted mine and held them across my body instead. It was safer.
“Fine. That’s fair. But unless anyone else is…house rules.” I saw the strike out and held my beer high. “Drink up!”
Hours later, I waved off the compliments Aaron and Jeff threw at me for my cooking. They insisted on cleaning up since I’d cooked, and I wasn’t going to fight them on that. “Technically, everyone should help clean up since Zade and I cooked.”
“Damn. She’s right. Let’s go, Tanner. We’ll let them relax.” Greta stood up and threw me a saucy look. I had no idea what that meant.She pushed me away from Zade and now she’s pushing me toward him? She makes no sense.
“Is it hot in here?” he asked, pulling my focus back to him. He had his arm along the back of the couch and appeared completely at home.
