No Weddings (12 page)

“I assumed one out of our three days you would. And you’re a gourmet chef, right? I bought every ingredient imaginable, according to the sales person who assisted me. I figured you’d improvise.”

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, but then she fought a smile. “Improvising in a kitchen is one of my greatest talents.”

My mind spun at the loaded tone in her voice, and I tilted my head as she headed out the door. “One of them?”

She turned around to face me again, walking backward as I stepped through the doorway. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the first part of the sentence instead of the last?” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

I blinked, speechless about the huge innuendo she’d left thick in the air between us.

Her head fell back and she laughed—a deep, rich sound. She’d let her hair down, and it fell in shiny, dark waves around her face. A few strands on the right touched her slender chin. Without thinking, I reached up and tucked them behind her ear.

She gasped at the contact, shuddering. Big trusting eyes looked up at me. I saw deeper than that, though. Fear and hurt were barely masked by the brave and reckless front she put on. They were the same emotions barricaded behind her icy walls.

I stared down into her eyes, but decided not to attempt to break through her carefully constructed shields. She deserved better than that kind of rough handling. I figured she would let down her guard when she was ready.

“C’mon, Maestro. Let’s see what you can cook us up.”

The spell broken, she nodded rapidly, pulling her small purse from her shoulder.

I stepped outside, waiting as she turned off the lights, activated the alarm, and closed the door. She fished a bundle of keys from her purse and locked it.

When she turned, I pressed a hand to her lower back. “Let me drive.”

She stopped cold, pointing. “That thing? No way.”

I laughed at her horrified expression. “Ever ridden on a bike?”

She shook her head, hard.

“Live a little, Hannah. Slide something wide between your legs and hold on tight to me. You might like it.” I smirked.

Her eyes narrowed, but the corners of her lips twitched.

Yep. I didn’t need a text box for sexual innuendo.

When she hesitated, I shattered her ice. “It
vibrates
…”

She burst out laughing. I took advantage of the crumbling walls to grab her hand, tugging her forward. “I promise it’s safe. I get here in one piece often enough. That should tell you something.”

She let out an undignified grunt.

I handed her the extra helmet I’d brought—yeah, I was that confident—and helped her fasten the chin strap. She looked adorable: pinked cheeks, dark waves of hair flowing out.

I straddled my bike and held out my arm, thankful she’d worn jeans. She took it and expertly swung her leg over, with that little purse snug over her shoulder.

Before I backed us up, Hannah adjusted, tightening her thighs around my hips, sliding her hands around my waist, and tucking them up in front of my chest. Her body pressed into my back. “This okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” It was more than okay. This was the most body contact we’d had, and although the rational part of my mind worked out that there was no other way she could’ve ridden on the back of my bike, I hadn’t actually prepared for having her wrapped around me.

I decided right then and there, I wanted her on my bike. A lot.

Like a champ, Hannah remained calm during the short ride to my place, holding on tight, but not clamping on for dear life at every turn. I looked at my street with fresh eyes, seeing what she would see as we approached. It wasn’t great wealth by any stretch of the imagination, but it was an established neighborhood close enough to Loading Zone and school to make it a worthwhile investment. The house wasn’t huge, but it was comfortable. Although I could afford to live there alone, I chose not to, taking on a friend whom I trusted enough to live with as a roommate.

Wordlessly, she followed me up the walk to the front door. The silence between us was comfortable, maybe because I’d been lost in my own thoughts or possibly because I felt connected to her in a loose friendship way I found hard to define. It definitely wasn’t due to my not caring about what she thought of the place. I was honest enough with myself to admit that I cared about her opinion of me, and where I lived was, in many ways, a reflection of me.

I dropped the keys in the entry table bowl. “Feel free to poke around. Be nosy, open drawers and cabinets as if it was your place. Rest assured, I intend to at yours.”

That earned me a shove and an easy laugh. I chuckled.

“Mase? Ya’ home?” With the garage closed and the house quiet, I wasn’t sure.

“Yeah.” A grunt from his bedroom.

“Well put some pants on, dude. We got company.”

As we made our way down the hall, Mase popped his head out sideways, then grinned. The sandy blond mop on his head was its usual shaggy mess.

Hannah stopped short of Mase’s bedroom. He was shirtless.

He eased the rest of the way into the hall in low-slung tattered jeans and bare feet. “Don’t worry, I got pants.”

Hannah grinned. “Awesome.”

“Mase, Hannah. Hannah, Mase.”

They shook hands, but I pressed mine to her lower back and glared at Mase. He dropped her hand and backed up, holding spread palms up in innocence.

“That’s obviously Mase’s room.” I nodded into the hurricane-devastation zone as we passed. At the end of the hall, I opened a closed door. “This is mine.”

She stood in the doorway, scanning the room but not going inside. In between classes earlier, I’d done a five-minute whirlwind clean job, which consisted of shoving things in drawers and under the bed, to be sorted out at a later time.

When she turned back around, I kept it casual, returning down the hall. Mase had vanished behind his closed door. I continued the two-minute tour, pointing as she followed. “Living room, kitchen, breakfast nook, back porch. Out there is a bricked patio and barbecue. Around that corner are the stairs down to a finished basement with laundry and game tables.” I turned to face her. “Want to see the basement?”

Hannah stood in the kitchen I’d renovated, spinning in a circle to take in the culinary terrain. When her gaze landed back on me, she shook her head. “No, I’m good.”

“Seriously? You don’t want to see my basement? The very best part’s down there…”

Her eyes sparkled, then her gaze drifted down, lingering below my beltline. “No, I don’t want to see your basement. Maybe later...”

I blinked. “Shit. Are we talking about square footage in my house or my pants?”

“You tell me.” She held a dead-serious expression for a few heavy heartbeats, then her hand flew to her mouth and she burst into laughter.

I snorted, shaking my head. “Woman, you intrigue me more and more.”

Through the entire house tour, Hannah showed no interest in exploring the place further, but in the kitchen, she investigated every drawer and cabinet before standing in front of the stainless steel refrigerator, studying its contents. A quick nod was the only indication I got that she was satisfied.

Pulling half of the new items from the refrigerator onto the butcher-block island, she reopened cabinets and drawers, grabbing a skillet, a saucepan, and various bowls and utensils. Not wanting to get in the way, I stayed off to the side, leaning against the counter, watching.

She finally relinquished her tiny purse to the end of the counter after pulling a hair clip out from inside. With a quick twist, she spun those sexy, unruly locks into submission, clipping them to the back of her head. I stared at her, fascinated.

She glanced at me. “You helping?”

“Absolutely.” I pushed off and stood beside her. “What do you need?”

She grabbed a metal colander and pointed at the leafy greens and root vegetables. “All of this washed and rinsed, then chopped into large pieces.”

I nodded.

As I went about my assigned task at the smaller sink in the island, she rinsed the chicken breasts in the larger sink, skinned them, and then cut them into strips with efficient slices of our razor-sharp butcher’s knife. She dumped the pieces into a bowl of raw scrambled eggs, tossed them onto a platter of flour, rolling them to dust all the surfaces, then laid them in the sizzling oil inside a pan on the stove. She placed a splatter screen over the top of it. Once she cleaned her preparation surfaces and the knife, she joined me, grabbing a turnip, a parsnip, and a bunch of carrots in unusual colors: white, purple, and orange.

Her soft voice held a tone of respect. “This is a beautiful kitchen—a dream kitchen, really. Do you cook?” As I cut the leafy greens, she nudged up next to me. “Here, let me. You’re using the wrong knife. And the wrong angle to cut.”

Maintaining contact, her hip against mine, she used that same butcher knife and balanced the point onto the cutting board, raising and dropping her forearm in a blur, each time moving a half inch over. Then she turned the strips and made four fast chops the other direction.

“See, it’s all in the wrist.”

I had no idea what she was talking about, but loved watching her work. This was her domain, and she ruled it well.

“So, do you?” She arched a brow, staring at me.

What was the question? Oh, did I cook. I shrugged. “Enough to get by, I guess. If I had the time, I’d experiment more. I insisted on a gourmet kitchen in the remodel, and the designer took charge with her vision, down to every last detail.” I held up the vegetable peeler.

“She did a great job. Here, put that detail to good use.” She handed me the washed carrots.

Dinner took about thirty minutes to make. By the time we’d filled the house with a mouthwatering aroma of fried chicken and steamed vegetables, Mase made an appearance and stayed, like a stray dog wanting a home. At least he’d put on a T-shirt.

“Here, make yourself useful.” I handed him napkins and plates.

We sat down right as the front door opened and slammed shut. “Holy shit! What happened in here?”

Ben appeared from nowhere, as was his MO.

Confused, I lowered the tongs onto the platter of chicken. “I thought you were working tonight.”

He shook his head. “Lisa wanted an extra shift, and the new bartender needed training, so I took off.” His eyes widened as he came closer. “Wow. What’s for dinner?” He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and sat down.

Hannah glanced at me. “I don’t do foursomes.”

Mase dropped his fork onto his plate. It clattered in the middle of the sudden silence.

Her mischievous gaze met mine.
Naughty.
And just like that, I got more intrigued.

“I’ve never entertained three men at once,” she clarified, glancing at the other two.

The poor guys stared at her, blinking. I couldn’t blame them. She was gorgeous. And she could cook. And with that wicked mind and her naughty implications, the combination was deadly.

“Food! I’m talking about food!” She grabbed her water glass and took a sip.

Ben burst out laughing.

Mase picked up his dropped fork. “Good, because we were about to kick you the hell out.” He winked at her.

“This is Ben, by the way, my best friend since kindergarten. Ben, Hannah.”

Hannah leaned over the table, holding her hand out. But Ben scraped his chair back, went behind me, and lifted Hannah out of her chair and into a bear hug. “Thank you for cooking for us.”

I would’ve gotten jealous at Ben taking from her something I hadn’t yet had—a hug—but I let it slide. Funny how a home-cooked meal civilized the savageness out of a man.

Plus, I would have her all to myself soon enough. “She cooked for
me
.” I loaded a pile of fried chicken strips onto my plate beside all the vegetables. It had been a long time since I’d eaten this well. “Consider yourselves lucky you’re included.”

“Lucky indeed,” Mase said.

Ben moaned, his mouth full of chicken.

Hannah laughed, shaking her head. “I like your friends.”

“Trust me. They like you too. I’m pretty sure they’ve bonded with you for life.”

Not one scrap was left on anyone’s plate by the time we finished. Had Hannah not been there, I’m certain the plates would’ve been licked clean; I saw Mase eyeing his, debating just that.

“You guys good to clean up?” I asked, pulling Hannah up from her chair by the hand.

Mase stacked the plates and brought them to the sink. “Gladly. Come over anytime you want, Hannah. Please, Cade. Bring that woman back over.”

Ben collected the bigger platters off the table. “I second that.”

I glanced down to catch her grinning so wide, her cheeks looked ready to burst. “We’ll see.” Her tone was teasing.

Part of me was thrilled that the guys had instantly taken to her, which was a rare occurrence among my friends given my field-playing history.

But a larger part of me wanted Hannah all to myself. For a while, anyway.

W
here Hannah had been reserved in the rest of my house, she turned inquisitive once I’d shut the door to my bedroom. My guess was that she was nervous in such close quarters with my bed mere feet away, but she delved into my stuff with such enthusiasm, I wondered if she just wanted to throw me off-balance. Which is exactly what she did.