She gestured to her clothes. “I’m not really dressed for it.”
A dirty image of the woman in front of me flashed in my mind’s eye. The soft flesh of her hips, how her tits would fill my hands.
Now I was the one zoning out. And being wildly mentally inappropriate with the woman I’d hired to teach me how to cook.
She glanced at her watch. “We really should get to cooking.”
I put my hands up. “You’re right. You’re right. Let’s cook.”
A beadof sweat rolled down my temple.
“Faster.”
“Yes, Chef,” I mumbled.
“Loosen your grip.”
My shoulders drooped and I turned to look at my drill sergeant of an instructor, letting the knife flop onto the cutting board. “How the hell does looser make it better?”
She watched me while a placid smile graced her lips. Smoke curled in the air between us and she jutted her chin at the stove. “Don’t forget your steak.”
“Shit!” I turned back to the stove, grabbing a spoon to drizzle the butter over the steak. Only the butter was part of what was burning. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
Chef was so close to me that her breast grazed my arm. This did not do my previous filthy thoughts any favors, only serving to distract me further.
“Get it out of the pan.”
“Right.” I picked up the tongs and attempted to pry the expensive cut of meat off the pan. It split, and what was supposed to be the crusted edge stuck to the pan. “I promise I know how to cook a steak.”
I fully expected her to rib me. If I’d just waited for her instructions, I probably wouldn’t have burned the steak. Instead, her voice was gentle and low.
“Clear your head. What needs to happen next?”
I swallowed hard and that bead of sweat from my temple made its way down my neck.
“I’ll help.” Emma’s deliciously soft breast pressed into my arm again as she leaned over me and turned off the burner. Her hand squeezed my bicep. “In and out.”
I didn’t have to ask what she meant, because my body obeyed with a breath snorted in and pushed out through my lips.
“In and out,” she said again.
“I just did!” I snapped.
“You really don’t like taking direction,” she observed.
“I can take direction, I just don’t like fucking up!” I flipped the pan handle into the middle of the stove and tossed the tongs at the other burner. “And you’re judging me!”
Emma studied me. “Only because you’re throwing a tantrum.”
“I am not!” I met her eyes to find them amused, a knowing smirk on her lips. And yet, she didn’t give me any more shit.
“What do you do when a goal gets past you? What goes through your head?”
My jaw tightened and I sucked on the roof of my mouth. My lips were pinched so tightly that I thought I might break a tooth. “What does my game have to do with my cooking? Do you think there’s something wrong with my game too? Going to hire a new chef to learn for me because I’m apparently incapable?”
Emma’s brow knit. “What?”
My hands balled into fists. “Everybody expects me to fuck up. They pay me less, they bring in Cordero like I’m a cuck who needs someone to fill in. Because they decided I suck, even though my stats are insane.”