"You cook?"
"Um, yeah. Who else is going to do it?"
"You don't have a chef? My brothers do."
"No. But one summer, my cousin made me take cooking lessons with him in Europe."
"You spent the summer cooking in Europe?"
"Not all the summer." He starts moving around his kitchen. I take a seat at the counter and watch him work. "He wanted to learn how to cook his own nutritious food for himself. He's an athlete too."
Wow. Never would have suspected him of this. It's also kind of hot. "What did you learn how to make?" I ask him.
"Stuff. Like pastries in France. Pasta in Italy. Tapas in Spain. Seafood in Greece."
I just stare at this enigma of a man. "I'm impressed."
"Didn't say I was good." He chuckles as he hands me another bottle of water.
"Do you need me to do anything?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "No. I've got this. It's nice to cook for someone other than myself."
"You don't cook for the boys?"
He scrunches up his face. "Hell no. They don't deserve it. Plus, they are animals and wouldn't savor it."
This makes me laugh. "So, were you visiting your cousin in London when we met?"
He nods. "Yeah. Most summers we spend together. He is the bane of my existence, but he understands this life."
"Oh, he's a hockey player too?"
"No. Soccer player. He's quite big in Europe. That's why he likes coming to the States on his holidays. No one knows who he is."
"Europe loves soccer." Then I still. "Wait. It was your cousin who hooked up with my friend?"
Emmett nods. We fall into comfortable silence as he cooks. I watch him move around the kitchen with ease. Cracking eggs. Flipping bacon. The smell fills the apartment and makes my stomach growl.
He hears it. "Hungry, Trouble?"
I roll my eyes because the more I push back about the nickname, the more he is going to use it to annoy me. He plates the food and sets it in front of me. Eggs, bacon, and pancakes. It looks incredible.
"This smells amazing."
"It's nothing special."
"If I didn't cook it, then it's special."
He chuckles. "I'm going to eat in the living room if you want to join me, there are some highlights I want to watch."
"Sure." I follow him into the living room, we both take a seat on the sofa, and I dig into my breakfast. "This is really good."
He smiles as he searches for the channel he's looking for, until the hockey highlights flash on screen.
"That's their captain," he says, pointing. "He's fast. Smart. Anticipates plays really well."
"How do you beat him?" I ask.
