That is the real trouble.
15
TEACH ME
Drew
This hardly feels like a bad idea—hanging out in her home, helping her cook.
And since I don’t want to leave our parallel universe yet, I yank open the fridge and declare, “I want to help you. Give me orders.”
Brooke wiggles her brows. “You want me to turn the tables on you in the kitchen?”
I tap my chin, giving her a doubtful stare. “Woman, I believe you gave me orders in the bedroom too. Need I remind you of your demands?Smack my ass. Fuck me hard, and so on,” I say as she reaches for some asparagus from the crisper.
She stops mid-grab. “Hmm. That’s a fair point. I’llcontinue bossing you around, Mister O Dealer,” she says.
I pat my chest. “I delivered two tonight, so I’m feeling pretty good,” I say as she sets the veggies on the counter, then reaches for a carton of tofu.
“Guess what? So am I,” she says in a sultry purr.
“Good. You deserve to. In the real world and in our parallel universe,” I say.
She tosses me a soft smile, but it’s a little poignant, recognizing that we’re stealing this night together.
Pretending this could be us.
But I’m not in the mood for a world where being together is a risk. “How are you such a good cook? Gimme details,” I say.
“Necessity. Mom and Dad worked late a lot, so I learned to cook for Cara and me in high school.”
“Sandwiches wouldn’t do? Or frozen food?”
She shudders as she crosses to the nearby pantry. “No way. Mom and Dad were foodies before foodies were a thing,” she says as she grabs a can of chickpeas. “They’d have flipped their lids if I made sandwiches. Plus, I liked taking care of Cara.”
“That tracks. You were a mama bear tonight at the movies. But a softie too.”
Her nose crinkles as she sets the can on the counter. “That describes me to a T where she’s involved.” Then she points to the cupboard beneath the stove. “Your first order. Grab the frying pan.”
“Same one you used the first time I was here?” I ask.
“I’ll be impressed if you can identify a pan,” she says, doubtful.
“Prepare to be impressed,” I say, bending to open the cupboard, then rooting around for it. Boom. Got it. I waggle the pan. “I told you—I’m multi-talented.”
“Yes, your pan identification skills are top-notch,” she says, setting it on the stove but not turning on the heat.
“So, growing up you had to learn to cook,” I say, returning to the conversation.
“I did, but somewhere along the way, something surprising happened,” she says, an impish grin on her face as she snags a bottle of olive oil from a cabinet, stretching to reach it. Mmm. The view. The delicious view of her exposed back as her tank top rises. She’s wearing sleep shorts too, and the whole casual just-been-fucked look is turning me on again.
But I’ll have to service my stomach first. “What’s the surprise? Also, order me around to find the can opener.”
“Drawer next to the stove. And the surprise is I learned to love cooking,” she says with a casual shrug. “It’s fun for me now. I find it both challenging and relaxing.”
“Like a recipe is a puzzle?” I ask as I rinse the top of the can then open it.
“Exactly.” She grabs a cutting board from thecounter. “You hope it’ll turn out the way you intended, but you never quite know.”