Chapter 12 #2
Until now. It was time to test out my resolve to let go of Mia who I had no right to in the first place.
I was a bigger man than I’d been acting like.
Unfair to Tate. I’d fixed the man up with her, the least I could do was let him date her in peace.
Even if it killed me, I owed him a gesture of good will.
So I would cook god dam dinner for him and Mia—and Hunter and Cat and Cat’s friend, whatever her name was. I couldn’t remember. Of course.
I left practice early—technically at the same time everyone else did—so I could get home and cook.
Everyone was set to arrive for 7:30. That gave me time to stop at the market and do the prep work.
I was excited to put the overly expensive gourmet kitchen to good use tonight.
It had been way too long. I was making chicken piccata over homemade linguini, one of my specialties.
Before starting any cooking, I put the food away and headed for the shower.
Tonight was a break from football, the Friday night window I’d always allowed myself to enjoy without guilt or concern and I found I was looking forward to it.
Stripping down, I tossed my clothes into a pile on the floor and turned on all three sprayers in the shower and made the water hot.
Standing under the spray, I emptied my mind and relaxed, concentrating on the water hitting my skin, washing more than the sweat and dirt of the day away, clearing my head, easing whatever tension I had.
To say I was surprised when I heard Hunter call out from my kitchen would be an understatement. Shit. I’d taken too much time. I shut down the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried off as I walked.
“What the hell are you doing? I don’t smell any food cooking.” Hunter Quintanna walked into my room as I pulled on some pants, with a towel around my neck, bare-chested and my hair still dripping.
“I was taking a shower. Do you mind? Do you have no shame about invading my privacy?” I was half joking—no, make that completely joking.
He held up a key ring. “I still have my key to this place. Have you no sense about security?”
Slipping the towel from around my neck, I whipped it at him, catching his left shoulder as he darted out of the way.
“Hey, this ain’t the locker room, Wyatt. Behave yourself. I came in here because I wanted to tell you about the young lady we brought along for you to meet.”
That shut me up fast. I motioned for him to continue. He always needed provocation to talk.
“She’s one of Cat’s sorority sisters, an Kindergarten teacher, lives in Boston.
” I knew he was teasing. He wanted to make me ask what she looked like, but I wasn’t going to bother since she was in the next room and I could go see for myself.
I brushed past him into the hall and went into the living room where I would find Cat and her friend.
“Wait a minute,” he called. “You forgot your shirt.” I didn’t wait.
When I walked into the living room, I found more than Cat and her friend.
Tate and Mia were there too. And they were all dressed to impress, especially Mia.
But I turned my eyes quickly from hers and aimed them at the new woman.
She was a looker, even if she wasn’t my type.
Not that I had a type, per se, except as defined by whoever I saw that turned my head.
She was pretty, but I wasn’t stunned. Though in fairness, she was in the same room as Mia so it was impossible for me to be impressed.
Because Mia stole my breath, the same way she always did.
It was more than her face, or her body or her grace and the way she moved, it was all those things and more.
Her smile, and especially her laugh, and the way she made people around her feel, the lightness, the openness, the trustworthiness, and the all-around good vibe she gave out, not only that she would do no wrong, but that you could do no wrong when you were with her because she would never judge you.
“Nice outfit,” Cat said. “Gabriel Wyatt, meet Natalie, my sorority sister and good friend.”
“I like your outfit,” the woman said, smiling like a lioness, giving me a chill that could either be fear or excitement. Probably both. Too bad I was looking for neither. Not from her at any rate.
“A real pleasure to meet you Natalie. I apologize, I wasn’t finished dressing. Make yourselves at home. Have some wine. Hunter can get it for you while I get a shirt.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” the tigress said.
I could have sworn I heard a purr. I gave her a grin while Cat rolled her eyes, almost making me laugh, and I went back to my room to grab the first shirt I came across.
It was a blue Hawaiian print, loose and comfortable and perfect for cooking in case I got food on it.
“Let’s get started. Come on into the kitchen and help me now that I’ve fallen behind schedule.”
“What do you need us to do?” Mia asked. I wanted to tell her she could pound the meat, but I didn’t. Too much room for misinterpretation as flirtation.
“You can help get the homemade pasta started.”
“Homemade pasta? Really? That’s rad,” Natalie said.
Fontanna said, “Figures. You don’t go halfway on anything, do you?”
“Lucky for you, I don’t.” I got the cutting board and vegetables and had Hunter and Cat chop greens and vegetables for the salad.
“I guess Fontanna is exempt from kitchen duty due to his gimpy arm. But you can handle pouring wine, right?”
“I can drink wine. Does that count?” He took the bottle and filled the five glasses I had out on the bar.
“So what does that leave you to do?” Hunter said, knife waving around.
“I’m pounding the meat.” I couldn’t help myself, knew it was a loaded statement and wasn’t disappointed with the burst of laughter and ribald commentary elicited.
Most of all, I was tuned into Mia’s laugh, a peel of tinkling amusement that ran up my spine and across my skin, landing at the nerve endings in my cock, making it jump for joy.
Damn. I knew I was going to be taking a second shower tonight, but the next one would be a cold one.
“Do you have eggs for the pasta?” Mia asked, shouting as I pounded the chicken breasts with the mallet, causing a racket and making people laugh all over again.
I saw that she was taking the pasta seriously, massing the ingredients in a circle of flour on the butcher-block space on the island.
I stopped what I was doing, rinsed my hands off, and got the eggs from the fridge as she took a sip of wine, a shiny smile never leaving her face.
“Here you go. You look like you’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice. What kind of pasta are we making?”
Bending, I retrieved the pasta maker from the cabinet below and lifted out the linguini attachment.
“Linguini—my favorite.”
“Mine too.”
I got the pasta maker ready to operate, watching her mix in the eggs and start working the dough with her hands. She was good. A natural. Mesmerizing.
The others were occupied, drinking, laughing, and chopping.
“Let me give you a hand with that,” I said, reaching around her to take hold of the ball of raw pasta, kneading it and shaping then rolling it into a long rod to feed into the pasta maker.
“What the hell do you have there, Wyatt?” Tate said. “It looks like—”
“Don’t say it,” Cat said, covering her ears, making us laugh.
“I was going to say it looks like a snake. What were you thinking?”
“I’ve heard it called a snake before,” Natalie said, I noticed she was eyeing Tate with interest now and that was fine by me. Backing away from Mia, I took one last inhale of her scent.
“Time to feed the beast. Mia, you’re in charge of catching the linguini when it comes out and laying it flat.”
“Yes, sir. On it.”
“That’s going to make some long linguini,” Tate said.
“I’ve heard it called that too,” Natalie said.
Everyone, including me, cracked up at that, but I watched Mia laugh until she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
We got the pasta into the boiling water and the chicken sautéing in the pan with the rest of the ingredients for the piccata and I finally had a sip of my wine.
“If you all don’t mind, I think I’m switching from wine to beer. Anyone else?”
“You’ve been holding out. What do you have?” Tate asked.
“Let me,” Hunter said, going to the fridge and opening the door lined with bottles of at least five different microbrews, my current favorites. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” He grabbed out two bottles and tossed one to Tate, who caught it with his good hand.
“Hey, maybe you ought to be on offense,” I said.
“I played both ways in high school,” Tate said, straight-faced.
“You sound like a fun guy, a real ball,” Natalie said.
Tate laughed and I recognized the glint in his eye when he looked at Natalie. It raised my spirits—and my cock—against any common sense, or my better judgment.
Cat set the table with Natalie and Mia and I managed to get the food on the table. Hunter and Tate were in charge of drinks.
“Dinner at last,” I said.
“Was that your version of saying grace?” Mia asked, eyes crinkled on the verge of laughter, happy and light.
“I guess it is.” I lifted my bottle and everyone joined and Hunter, of all people, made the toast to friends. I added my own toast.
"Here’s to a heart free of sadness a life full of gladness, a body free of illness & a mind free of women—I mean worries."
Everyone laughed and Cat swatted my shoulder.
By the time we finished eating it was close to ten p.m., the kitchen was a mess, and no one was going anywhere except to the living room with small glasses of liqueur or brandy.
I poured myself Sambuca over ice, Hunter grabbed himself another beer, and stopped me in the kitchen.
“Have you talked to Denise yet?”
I took a sip of the sweet drink before answering him.
“No. You decided to play my conscience?”
He smiled evilly. “It’s fun.”
“Seriously, I need to tell her in person. She’s coming up next Sunday for the home game. I’d planned to tell her then.”
“What about Mia?”
“We’re friends.”
“She with Fontanna?”
I shrugged. “You tell me.” I paused a beat. He nodded. “We done with twenty questions?”
“Your conscience is satisfied. For the moment.”
I rolled my eyes because I knew it would annoy him. He punched my arm, nearly spilling my drink. I pounded his back, spilling his beer.
“Son of a—”
I went around him through the dining room and into the living room with the others.
I’d felt like a hypocrite saying that I was friends with Mia, knowing the attempt was futile. Knowing the attempt would end badly. I wondered where this self-destructive streak came from.
But there was no way around the need to harden myself to the idea that Mia was with Tate. And even if she wasn’t that she’d be with someone else long before I would be ready for the kind of relationship she wanted or deserved.