Chapter 34
Evie
I don’t listen to him as I walk out to the living room. I drop my bag in a corner where it will be out of the way. I reach into my bag and pull out one of my required reads for classes. “Evie.”
The front door opens, and Quint walks in. “Evie, how’s it going?” He doesn’t look surprised to see me; Zane must have told him what’s going on.
“Good.”
“Evie’s staying with us,” Zane tells him.
Or not.
“Cool,” he says easily.
“Hey, Quint.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me. “Do you have extra sheets somewhere in this house I could use for the couch?”
His eyes shoot to Zane’s. “You’re making her sleep on the couch?”
Zane gives him a look. “Do you think I’d let my—” he stops abruptly. “Evie sleep on the couch?”
“Evie, I can sleep on the couch; you can have my bed it you want it,” Quint offers with a grin.
“No,” Zane practically growls before I can answer.
My eyes shoot to him. “There’s no need to be so aggressive.”
“Yeah, Zane, there’s no need to be aggressive,” Quint says in a song-song voice.
“Don’t you have some place to be?” Zane demands.
Quint eases into the recliner across the room and pulls the handle, popping up the footrest. “Nope,” he says easily.
I look between him and Zane, feeling bad because I’m already causing a problem just by being here. I turn to Zane. “Maybe it would be better if I just went back to campus.” I barely get the words out of my mouth before he answers with a definitive no. “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause problems.”
“You’re not a problem. If anything, Quint can leave.” Quint’s grin drops. “Hey, I live here.”
“Not for long if you don’t behave,” Zane growls at him.
Quint sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll be good.” He mimes zipping his lips and throwing away the key.
Zane turns back to me. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Have you eaten anything since lunch?” Zane asks.
I stop to think. “No.”
“Then you’re hungry. Want to help me make dinner for the guys? It’s my night.” He points to my book. “Or you can just read for your class. No pressure either way.”
I follow Zane into the kitchen, ignoring the sounds coming from Quint behind me. Are those supposed to be kissing sounds? “What are we making?” I ask when I step into the kitchen.
“Ground turkey and sweet potato bowls,” he says as he looks into the refrigerator. When he glances over at me and catches my expression, he laughs. “Not a fan, I take it?”
“You do you,” I say, waving my hand at him.
“You’ll like them,” he says confidently. He starts pulling out all sorts of ingredients from the fridge. “What did you like to eat growing up? Besides orange chicken, that is,” he says with a smirk.
I think back on my years at home. “Honestly, my mom and I both worked a lot; we ate a lot of frozen and easy foods. Chicken nuggets, ramen, microwave bowls.”
He frowns. “How early did you start working?”
I shrug. “As soon as I was legally allowed.” At his questioning look, I tell him. “At fourteen.” At his look, I hurry to add, “But it was good for me.” Wanting the focus off me, I ask, “What about you? How old were you and what was your first job?”
“I worked for my dad from an early age.”
“See, that’s the same thing.” He looks over at me like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. “You helped take care of the land?” I ask, curious. He nods, even as he turns on the oven. “What can I do?”
“Want to prep the sweet potatoes?” He nods to the large orange potatoes on the counter. “You don’t have to,” he offers when I don’t respond right away.
Feeling my cheeks heat, I ask softly, “How do you prepare them? I’ve never made sweet potatoes before?”
“Oh, it’s easy. Just peel it like a regular potato.
” I get started. “See?” he says with a smile.
“You’re a natural.” I scoff and roll my eyes.
When it comes time to chop the potatoes, I sink the knife into the potato.
It gets stuck halfway. No matter what I do, I can’t get it to go all the way through.
Zane turns from the stove and sees my predicament.
“Sweet potatoes are hard to cut through.” But despite his words, the knife slides through the potato easily for him.
“Give me that.” I take it from him and try again. I stand on my tiptoes and push down. The knife finally cuts through the potato and hits the cutting board hard. “There we go,” I tell him triumphantly.
“Do you still have all your fingers?” I ignore him and go back to cutting. It takes forever, but I finally get the small chunks he was going for. “Perfect. Thanks.”
“What are we doing with them?” I ask.
“We’re going to sauté them in olive oil; it will take them a little bit to get tender.”
I look at the other skillet he’s got going with ground turkey in it.
“Want to help me chop the rest of the vegetables?” I nod, and he grabs another knife and cutting board and comes over to work beside me.
His body dwarfs mine. He’s so much taller and bigger than me, but he doesn’t make me nervous.
He never has. I take in the assortment of veggies—carrots, celery, onions, and peppers and get to work.
I’ll admit, it’s a little difficult to focus on the veggies when his biceps and the muscles in his forearm flex every time he cuts a veggie.
Somehow, I make myself focus on the job at hand.
Honestly, we work pretty well together. I don’t know why it surprises me; Zane has a way of just making everything easy. When the veggies are almost done, Zane drops in a bunch of spinach. I frown, and Zane laughs. “It will be good; I promise.”
“I don’t know. You seem pretty confident in your cooking skills,” I tell him.
“Our cooking skills,” he corrects. “And yes, I am.”
“That smells amazing,” Quint says, coming into the kitchen. He walks over to the stove and reaches right into the skillet, but Zane smacks his hand.
“Wait.”
Quint turns away, dejected before he whirls back around and snatches a sweet potato from the other skillet. “Ah, oh.” He juggles the potato in his mouth with his tongue, looking ridiculous and not earning any compassion from neither Zane nor me.
“He told you it was hot,” I remind him.
Quint groans. “Are you always going to take his side now?”
“Yes,” I tell Quint without breaking a smile.
He groans again and stalks out of the kitchen. “Thanks for the back-up,” Zane says giving me a high-five. I can’t help but smile.
“Okay, what else do we need?”
“Come here,” Zane whispers. I look at him curiously as I walk over to him.
“What are we doing?” I ask, but he hushes me.
“We’re making my secret sauce.”
That piques my attention. “Okay. Do I get to know?”
“Of course; you’re my sous chef.”
I can’t help my smile. He pauses a moment, his eyes on my face. Then he smiles himself and gathers ingredients. “What sauce are we making?” I ask quietly.
“My own take on chipotle sauce.”
I frown. “Is it any good?”
He turns to me, exasperated. “Woman, after all this, you still have no trust in me?”
I can’t help the laugh that slips out. “Okay, fine.”
He grins and grabs everything he needs. He puts every ingredient in front of me, so I can see what he’s making.
He starts by opening a can of chipotle peppers and dumping them into the blender.
Then he adds Greek yogurt, soy sauce, honey, lime juice, garlic, and some water.
He pulses it all together and lifts the lid.
“It smells good,” I tell him.
“It is good,” he counters.
He takes out a spoon and dips it into the sauce and holds it out for me. I lean forward and take a taste of it. And immediately regret it. My mouth flames instantly, and my eyes water. He steps towards me.“What’s wrong?”
“Spicy,” I rasp out. My eyes are still watering.
He whirls around and grabs milk out of the fridge and pours me a cup. “Drink that.” He then takes another spoon and dips it into the concoction and takes a bite. His eyes go wide, and he reaches for my milk. I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me, even though my mouth is still on fire.
He frowns at the sauce. “What happened?”
I can’t help my grin. “I don’t know, Master Chef. What happened?”
He scowls and whips out his phone, raising his finger to me in the universal sign for wait a second. “Mom,” he says a moment later. “Quick question for you. I’m making your chipotle sauce.”
I drop my hands to my hips. Your mom’s? I mouth to him. He smirks and nods at something his mom says.
“Yeah, I did all that.” He frowns. “I put the whole can in.” Then a moment later, he says, “Oh.” His eyes meet mine. “Two peppers,” he says sheepishly.
I shake my head. “We put the whole can in.”
He smiles. “Evie’s here helping me cook.” His eyes never leave mine. “She is.” I wonder what his mom said. “So, what can we do to save this sauce?” He nods and then says a few more things while I work on cleaning up our mess. “Okay, thanks, Mom. Love you too.”
“So, did we completely ruin it?” I ask.
“No,” he says with a mischievous grin. “I’ve got a plan.”
“Uh, oh,” I mutter.
He just grins at me. “Dinner,” he calls out. “Get it now if you want any.”
Quint appears in the kitchen seconds later. “Mmmm, smells good. Evie, you must have done all the cooking.”
“Actually,” I start.
“Yeah, she’s amazing,” Zane interjects, leaning around me to put down some plates.
I don’t move as I feel his hard body right against my back.
I find it hard to breathe until he pulls away.
Quint catches my eyes and grins like a Cheshire cat.
“Slate!” Zane calls out, and Slate walks into the kitchen less than thirty seconds later.
“Who’s hungry?” Zane asks as he carries over the heavy skillets. I don’t really see how they can eat all the food we made, but I don’t really know how much athletes eat. Maybe they can.
“Where’s Reid?” I ask.
“Who knows?” Zane shakes his head. “That guy is always out and about doing who knows what.”
It kind of surprises me. I kind of expected Reid to be a home body. As if he heard us talking about him, the front door opens and Reid strides inside. “He smelled the food,” Quint says with a grin.
Reid sits at the kitchen table, and I watch as Zane starts plating the food. “Are we not allowed to make our own plates?” Reid asks, eyeing Zane.
“Hush,” Zane says. “We’re making it special.”
“Uh, huh.” Reid looks suspicious as he watches Zane.
Zane looks over at me and winks before he drizzles a hefty amount of sauce onto the first plate. I barely keep the grin off my face when Quint asks, “What’s that sauce, Man? Is it good?”
Zane winks at me again. “It’s really good.”