“First, go wash your hands.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He moved to the sink, and I watched him roll up his sleeves. The muscles in his tattooed forearms flexed as he scrubbed his hands, and I had to look away before I got distracted.Focus, Stormie. Food first. Dick after.
“What are we making?” he asked, drying his hands.
“Might as well whip up some pasta. It’s easy. Even you can’t fuck it up.”
“You got a lot of faith in me.”
Laughing, she replied, “I really don’t.” He laughed, and I pulled out a pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove. Then I grabbed the chicken, vegetables, and sauce and laid everything out on the counter. “Okay,” I said. “You’re chopping.”
“Chopping what?”
“Bell peppers, onions, and garlic.” Kade looked at the cutting board like I’d just asked him to perform surgery. I was trying not to laugh. “Just don’t cut yourself. I don’t want to spend the rest of the weekend in the ER.”
“Relax. I got this.”
“Famous last words.” I watched him pick up the knife and a bell pepper, staring at it like he was trying to figure out the best angle of attack. “Kade, it’s a pepper. Just cut it.”
“Shut up. You’re distracting a nigga. Damn.” He started cutting slowly and was way too focused.
I bit back a smile. “What the hell? You look like you’re defusing a bomb,” I said.
“I'm being careful.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
He glanced at me, eyebrow raised. “You want me to do this shit or nah?”
“I want you to do it faster.” I turned back to the stove, checking the water. It was starting to boil, so I added the pasta and stirred, trying to ignore the way my heart was beating faster. Next, I cleaned the chicken and patted it dry. Then, out of nowhere, Kade burst out laughing.
“Remember that time a couple years ago when you tried to make ramen and almost burned down your kitchen?”
I spun around. “That was one time.”
“You forgot to add the fucking water.”
“I was drunk!”
“Drunk as fuck.” He was grinning now, shaking his head. “I came back from the gym, and the whole floor smelled like burnt plastic. The landlord was losing her damn mind.”
“Okay, but in my defense, Monique left me alone with Jenna and those tequila shots.”
“Nah, that’s not a defense. That’s just bad decision-making, Stormie.”
“Jenna was a bad influence.”
“She still is. The fuck? Just last month she tried to convince you to get matching tattoos.”
I groaned. “Oh, my God. She wanted us to get ‘Ride or Die’ on our ankles.”
“And your ass almost did that shit. I had to physically pull you out her car.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You were halfway to the tattoo shop before I stopped you.”