“There’s cooking, and then there’s cooking,” I said, emphasizing the words with finger quotes. I made my way to the fridge to put away the cheese, and it drew me closer to him, the spell of his body teasing mine just like every time I was anywhere near his orbit.
“What are you doing back?” I asked.
“Nowhere else to go at the moment,” he said. He hadn’t budged from his position leaned up against the wall, but when Molly dropped a rope toy at his feet, he bent, picked it up, and tossed it into the other room. Her nails scrabbled on the wood floors as she went to retrieve it.
I turned back to the counter, swallowed the rest of the whiskey I had in my glass, and then finished cleaning the counter and the cheese grater.
“What did the psychologist say?” I asked, and when I turned around, I caught a glimpse of an emotion I hadn’t seen before on his face. Hurt and loss mixed together. He didn’t respond.
I poured myself more whiskey and waved the bottle in his direction. He nodded, and I reached for another glass to pour one for him. I left it on the counter, taking mine to the kitchen table where I had a solitaire game laid out. Another task that kept my brain occupied in the quiet of the house.
He tossed the toy for Molly again before he picked up the drink and sat down across from me. “Have you heard from Tristan?” he asked.
I nodded, moving a red queen on top of the black king I’d just turned over.
“Why? Haven’t you?” I asked.
He ran a hand over the top of his hair, colliding with his sunglasses. He placed them on the table. “She isn’t returning my texts or calls.”
“So, you just thought showing up at her house was the way to go?”
“Don’t start. You’re as bad as Mac.” He glowered.
“What do you mean?”
“I promised him, and I damn well mean to keep that promise,” he said, his voice full of emotions you didn’t normally get from him. Molly seemed to take his tone to mean he was done playing, because she laid down at his feet. The dog was a traitor. Just like my body.
“Does she get a say in it?” I asked him.
He ignored my question and waved a hand. “What are you playing?”
“Um. Solitaire.”
“That’s not how you play Solitaire.” His lips quirked again.
“It’s Demon Solitaire,” I said with an eye roll, trying to hide the shake in my hands from being near him.
“Is this what you’ve been doing for the last two weeks? Cooking and playing Solitaire?” And this time, his lips turned up into a full smile, his white teeth in his tan face gleaming, eyes twinkling.
“No. Well, yes, but I’ve done other things, too.”
“Like what?” he challenged.
“Why do you care, Otter?”
That wiped his smile away, and my heart twisted. The timer went off, I pulled the enchiladas out, coated them with the cheese I’d grated, and put them back in the oven for a few more minutes. When I turned back around, he’d changed seats so he was in the chair next to mine, and he was moving my cards.
“Don’t screw up my game,” I told him.
He chuckled, a low rumble, deep from his chest, and I wondered what it would feel like if my hand was on his skin. Would I feel the movement all through my body?
“It’s just moving red to black and number to number. How hard can it be?”
“There’s a strategy to it,” I said, moving over but not sitting down in the chair I’d vacated. “See, you’ve totally screwed it up.”
“What?”
“I won’t be able to move that whole stack now because you’ve blocked it.”
“I feel like you are taking this way too seriously. Is this like your family and poker?” He smirked.
“No. Poker is way more serious.”
“So, if I were to do this, you wouldn’t care?” He brushed two of the piles so they mixed together, and I cringed.
He chuckled, and I was close enough that the energy coasted over my skin, littering it with goosebumps. I turned back to the oven, taking out the pan. The enchiladas didn’t look half bad for my first attempt. My body tingled a warning, but I still almost dropped the entire dish when I placed it on the counter, because Nash had moved so that he was right beside me.
“Jesus. Is your goal to give me a heart attack tonight? How did you move without me hearing it?” I asked.
He smiled. “Sniper training. Stealth is my mode of operation.”
I stared for a minute. I hadn’t known he was a sniper. SEAL, sure, but it took much more than brute force to be a sniper. The list of requirements was long, including a lot of brainpower. Nash having brains as well as looks was almost too much to consider. I moved away from him. Brains in men was always a turn-on for me. It was what had attracted me to Russell. He was smart. Ridiculously smart.
“How many people are you planning on feeding? Is there a party of twenty coming?” he asked.
“No, I’m freezing it for Tristan. You know, making sure she has something easy when she gets back.”
His smile was wiped away. “That’s pretty nice of you.”
“Whatever you’ve heard about me not being nice, it’s all lies. I can be very nice,” I said, grabbing plates from the cupboard. “I’m so nice I’ll even share some of this with you.”
“Are you sure you made enough, I mean―”
I threw the potholder at him, and he caught it deftly.
I dished us up, and he took the plates from my hand and put them on the table while I got out the silverware.
“This doesn’t look right,” he said as he sat
