Chapter 3 #2
While I pretended to be suddenly, thoroughly invested in a random blob of pancake batter, he snagged a box of orange juice from the fridge, then proceeded to flex in earnest, an over-the-top show clearly for my benefit. “It’s okay, you can stare. I know I’m gorgeous.”
My rolling eyes did nothing to deter his peacocking.
I was just scraping my brain for some way to defend my honor when Boone’s gaze traveled past me, and Henry jumped off the countertop to shrink into my side. I turned to find Gage standing in the doorway, taking in the scene with a stunned expression on his usually blank face.
“Oh. Hi. Welcome back.” Feeling, foolishly, like I’d been caught in the act of thinking horny thoughts, I stepped away from Boone and put my hands behind my back. “We made pancakes if you want some…”
Gage’s eyes traveled to Boone, and his expression soured slightly. “Why are you covered in flour?”
Boone shrugged as he took a swig of orange juice. “Carissa’s just kinky like that.”
Both Gage and I directed a withering glare in his direction, but Boone was already preoccupied trying to lick pancake batter from his pecks.
“Anyway,” I turned back to Gage, unsure of exactly how to speak to him. Every time I tried, he looked like he would rather be anywhere else. “How was the game? We couldn’t watch the last one; Henry had lessons.”
Gage’s eyes dropped to Henry, who was still hiding behind my legs, watching the hockey player with apprehension. A similar, hesitant expression flickered across Gage’s face, and he looked like he wanted to say something to the kid before Boone butted in again.
“We kicked ass, as usual.” Boone sauntered forward and flung an arm over my shoulders. “But Gage here nearly earned us a match penalty.” He tilted his head and threw Gage a wry grin. “He lost his temper. Again.”
He said it fondly enough, but Gage’s expression hardened, and his lips thinned into a harsh line. He grabbed the pot of coffee from the countertop and stormed off without a word, leaving Boone shouting after him.
“Ah, man, come on! I didn’t mean it like that.” When it was clear Gage wasn’t coming back, Boone pinched the bridge of his nose before unhooking his arm from my shoulder. “God. Dude’s as temperamental as a teenage girl.”
“And you’re a sexist asshole.” I elbowed him in the ribs and kneeled down to hand Henry a plate of pancakes.
Henry was still clinging to me, one hand fisted in the fabric of my skirt, and he looked away when I offered him the plate.
I knew what was bothering him without his needing to say it.
Gage scared him a little, that’s why he hid from him, but deep down, Henry desperately wanted the aloof hockey player to like him.
“Hey, don’t worry about Gage.” I ruffled Henry’s hair, waving the pancakes under his nose. “He’s just grumpy because Uncle Boone likes to push his buttons.”
Behind me, Boone spluttered an indignant objection, but I ignored him, offering Henry a reassuring smile. “You can eat these on the sofa if you want, just don’t get syrup on your new controller, okay?”
Henry hesitated for only a second before nodding, his grip on my skirt loosening as the promise of pancakes and video games won out. “Okay. Can I play the racing one?”
“Absolutely.” I patted his head, straightening up as he tottered away to set up the PlayStation. “One of these days you’re going to beat Boone’s high score.”
Once he was gone, I turned to survey the state of the kitchen and the aftermath of Boone’s baking attempts.
Somehow, he and Henry had managed to dirty at least ten different kitchen appliances in the process, as well as seemingly every spoon and spatula in the house.
Syrup stuck to the cupboard doors where Henry had run sticky fingers, and every tile on the floor was powdered white with spilled flour.
“Alright,” I sighed, slinging the only clean dish towel over my shoulder. “Now the real fun begins.”
I got to work wiping down the countertops while Boone remained unmovable and purposefully in my way. He leaned against the counter, watching me with a small smirk that made my stomach do a single, treacherous flip. I brushed it off and cleaned around him, even as heat burned pink on my cheeks.
“What?” I said eventually, when he wouldn’t quit staring. I could feel his eyes on me, even without looking, and I focused instead on scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smear of batter.
“Nothing,” Boone answered in a singsong voice. “Just admiring the view.”
I swatted him with the dish towel. “If you insist on hanging around, at least make yourself useful. There—” I pointed at the sink. “Dishes. Surely you can handle soap and a sponge?”
“Better than batter and egg-beaters.” Boone pushed off the counter and flexed his fingers, approaching the sink like it was some kind of fearsome adversary. He did what he was told, at least, and got to work scrubbing at dirty utensils while I moved on to sweeping the floors.
We worked in silence for a while, a comfortable sort of quiet that took me by surprise. In the brief time that I’d known him, Boone had proved to be a motormouth, but he seemed surprisingly happy to get lost in the task of dishwashing.
It lasted right until I started climbing countertops, struggling to reach the cupboards on the wall above. I had one knee hiked up and balanced on the edge, and my other leg stuck out behind me, when Boone closed a hand around my ankle.
“Get down, Jesus. We can’t have a nanny with a broken leg.” He reached past me, taking the box of pancake mix from my hand and returning it to the shelf. The heat of him at my back took me by surprise, sending an unexpected thrill shivering through my body.
“Thanks.” I accepted the elbow he offered and climbed down from the counter, hoping to high hell he wouldn’t notice the blush. “I guess I’m just used to handling things alone.”
“You and my brother have a lot in common,” Boone muttered, closing the cupboard doors above my head. When he turned to face me, we were inches apart, and it occurred to me too late to step back.
Boone’s lips tipped into a small, knowing smirk, and his eyes dropped briefly (and pointedly) to my lips, before flicking away again. “Quite close proximity for a professional.”
The guy was teasing me, clearly. Acting like he hadn’t been the one to flirt with me first. It was an infuriatingly effective tactic, and my heart gave a single, heavy thud.
Sensible instincts told me to step away, to stick to my guns.
But the rest of me thought it couldn’t hurt to play the guy at his own game. So, instead, I lifted my hand.
“Hold still,” I murmured, wiping a thumb across the sharp curve of his cheek to catch a stray spattering of pancake batter. Rather than wiping it from my fingers, I brought it to my lips, and Boone’s green eyes widened as I held his gaze and slowly, sensually, licked my fingers clean.
A sharp, breathy laugh of disbelief burst from his lips, and he shook his head. “You’re dangerous.”
“I’m just cleaning up,” I said innocently, offering him a charming little smile of my own.
Neither of us moved for a moment, and the tension in the air quivered like a taut bowstring. Despite the sudden, rampant fire in my loins, Boone was the one to break first. He stepped back with another nervous chuckle and scratched at the back of his neck.
“It seems I have underestimated your game, Miss McCabe. I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped past me, heading for the doorway, but paused briefly to murmur in my ear. “You know, if you’re ever feeling lonely in that big bed of yours, you’re always welcome to pay a visit to mine.”
And then he was gone, breezing out of the kitchen along with my last remaining shred of professional sense.