The smirk that twitches his beard would be playful if it didn’t look so carnal. “You underestimate me then, Dr. Anderson?”
“Not intentionally.” I scoop a bite but wait, because the steam rolling off of it would nuke my mouth. “Wait. How do you know I’m doctor anything?”
He shrugs, lifting one eyebrow, and tilts his chin to the bowl. “That’s my first attempt. I can’t complain about how it came out.”
“You just whipped up a pot of— Fine, I’ll bite. What is it?”
“Brisket chili. My buddy Fitz’s recipe.”
Fabric napkins and follows recipes. Yeah, he’s not at all what I think.
I take a bite and am struck by the depth of it. It doesn’t look or taste like anything I’ve ever eaten. “Chili in the Midwest is ground beef and beans. And cinnamon rolls if you’re in Iowa or Nebraska.”
The look on his face should’ve been captured for posterity. I snort, covering my mouth with the napkin, hoping I don’t spill anything as I shake with laughter. “Your face?—”
“My face is what?” He holds my gaze with a look that tells me he knows how to use his face—that mouth, those thick fingers, and that cock…
I shut up because if I were stripped naked in front of this man, I wouldn’t feel more vulnerable.
“One.” He ticks up a finger. “Beans are on Fitz’s banned list.” He lifts another finger. “And two, my stomach turned with the idea of cinnamon rolls.”
“I hear it works.” I’m baiting him, and we both know it.
“Cornbread works. Crackers work. Breakfast pastries? No. Just no.” He drains his beer and looks to my bowl. “Eat.” He walks inside, leaving me in his backyard with a bowl of delicious chili and a half-drunk beer.
The stars are peeking out and winking past the streetlights, and the breeze is cool while warmth still emanates from the ground below me. It’s hard to explain the level of relaxation I feel for the first time since… Well, I can’t remember when.
The chili is spicy, smoky, and rich. The beer is cold, crisp, and hoppy. I’m full and happy and, by the time he returns with another couple of beers, my tongue is loose.
“That was so good. Fitz would be proud.” I nod to my empty bowl as he hands me the bottle. “On second thought, it was par. Keep trying. I’ll let you know when it’s edible.”
A rumbled chuckle comes from his chest. “Well played.” He lifts his beer and taps the neck against my own. “And he’s coming by later. We’ll see if it meets his standards.”
I drop my head back to stare at the sky. “Your wife doesn’t mind the late-night guests?”
He chokes and coughs, wiping beer out of—or into—his beard, sputtering, “My what?”
“Your wife. I’m from middle America, but I assume most wives are into routine and normal bedtimes, not friends showing up after dark to”—I wave my beer around—“do whatever it is you do. Watch TV and judge chili cook-offs. Speaking of, how have I never seen her?”
“That’s easy. I don’t have one.”
10
not a pleasant anything
Liam
“The stunning redhead in the frame in your kitchen. I’ve seen the picture. And the ring.” Quietly and with a fair bit of suspicion, she adds, “You deny her?”
I thump my chest, working out the last bit of inhaled hops so I can speak. “I couldn’t deny Ayla anything. Hell, I’m her daughter’s godfather.”
Her eyes go huge. “Godfather? You don’t even call yourself Dad?”
“Fuck no.” I turn to look at her square in the eyes. “Ayla’s my sister.”
The look on her face is confusion mixed with disgust, probably similar to mine with the cinnamon roll discussion earlier. The light dawns for both of us. Her dueling middle fingers and theI abhor cheatingcomment. I assumed it was about her.
“You thought I was a cheater.” My voice is low, prodding her.
