She laughed and broke our embrace, her eyes lighting up at the bags on the table. “You brought food?”
“Taco Tuesday, Doc. It’s a thing here.” I got the ingredients out one by one, and she watched like a good student. Her hair was getting longer, the soft pink growing out. I reached over to take a part of it in my fingers. “Will you keep it pink?”
“Oh, shit.” She sighed and swatted my hand away. “I forgot I needed to make an appointment. My mother would be ashamed of me, letting my roots grow like this. It’s unladylike and not proper.”
“I think it looks cool. Dark hair, the pink. Just another layer of your intrigue, Nora.”
She pursed her lips, almost looking bashful, before she busied herself with the ingredients. “Okay, Taco Tuesdays are a thing.”
“Yes, and we know I take my food seriously. Now…” I picked up the pan and cooking spoon I’d brought with me. “You’re going to learn how to make them.”
“Oh, yes, please!”
She didn’t bat an eyelash as I showed her how to cook the meat and drain the grease, or when I made her chop up the avocado and shred cheese. She did everything I asked and smiled the entire time. She didn’t seem to care her shirt was covered with evidence of our cooking, and it reminded me of her in a garden where she didn’t realize how messy she got.
“You have salsa on your shirt.” I jutted my chin. “That might stain.”
“Hm.” She chewed her lip and unbuttoned the stiff material, resting it on the back of the chair and wearing a very thin silky tank top that I wanted to rip off her skin. “I read that I could put dish soap on it to keep it from getting ruined.”
“Ah, learning all the adult tricks?”
Her ears turned red, and she nodded. “Uh-huh, pretty much.”
I’d been with a lot of women, but her skin, her floral scent, they just drove me insane. I grinned so large my face hurt and ran a finger over her collarbone, enjoying the way goose bumps broke out over her flesh.
She giggled, and I let go, reluctant to finish cooking when her tank top and bra barely covered what I knew was underneath. Was it only three days ago that I had her?
Get it together.
The food was ready, and the spicy, strong scent of the onions, rice, guacamole, tacos, and sizzling meat filled her kitchen. She set plates at each end and hummed to herself when I brought the drinks. Gilly bought me a bullet blender for smoothies, but it ended up making the best frozen margaritas. Not her intention, but it worked.
“To experiencing adulting,” I said, holding up my glass. She clinked hers against it and widened her eyes at the first sip. “Oh, yeah, it’s strong,” I added.
“Whoa, you’re not joking.” She coughed a bit.
“Another adult trick,” I said, continuing to caress her neck and shoulder, “is to make the margaritas strong when you’re at home. No driving, better drinks.”
She reached for a tortilla shell and used her fork and knife to cut it.
“Stop it. Right now.”
She tensed. “What—”
“Eat with your hand, good lord.” I made my taco and showed her how to take a bite, and she blushed before modeling it. In moments like these, I was glad we were together. Temporarily. Not,together-together.
Maybe that drink had gone straight to my head.
“I have a favor to ask you,” I said, reminding myself why I thought tacos and a drink would be a little bit of a bribe. She could say no, and I wouldn’t push her hard, but I wanted her to say yes, really badly.
“What is it?” She reached for the salsa and put some on a spoon before dropping it over the taco, and she looked up at me with nothing but curiosity on her open face. The light streamed from the window just right, showing all the different shades of brown and tan in her eyes, and I had the wild urge to take her picture.
“Uh, it’s about a business.” Shit, my head got hot, and I unbuttoned the top button of my shirt to fan myself. I might’ve put too many jalapeños in the salsa.
“Okay. How so?”
“I have a friend, wait, no. Well, she is a friend. A colleague. Yes.” I paused, hating myself. I sounded like an idiot.
“No need to be nervous, Fritz. You’ve seen me at some low moments.”
