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“Thank you. So I’ll do the dishes.” I hang my towel on a hook. “What’d you make?”
“Lasagna,” she answers. “Is Colt coming, too?”
I smirk, naked and amused. “Do you want Colt to come again with us?”
But I’m playing the GOAT of kink. She smiles at my semi and gets the point. “Bronson, it’s obvious what you want. You want to lick both sides of the stamp so bad, your tongue is drooling for it.” I raise a brow, confused. “A switch-hitter. A gate-swinger.” She explains, “You want a threesome, but too bad for you, I’m swinging with dildos only.”
With that, she proudly stands from her throne and flushes. I chuckle, listening to her wash her hands while I throw on clean shorts. Fuck a shirt. It’s too hot.
Minutes later, we’re gathered around the marble kitchen island.
“Dig in,” Blair instructs with a proud smile, so I do the honors, spearing the bubbling lasagna with a spatula.
I load up my plate. Colt loads up his. But we’re gentlemen, so I spoon some onto a plate for Blair, and he carries it for her outside to the table she set.
Wine would make this dinner even more romantic, but the sunset works in my favor. Something about this night feels perfect between us as I sit beside Blair, across from Colt.
We silently dip our forks into the cheesy Italian goodness, taking ravenous bites. We chew. And chew. And chew. And chew.
“Wow,” Colt mumbles with his mouth full. “It’s authentico. Very al dente.”
I can’t speak.
I’m busy choking on raw pasta.
“What the… ?” But Blair spits her mouthful into her linen napkin. “The noodles aren’t cooked!”
I don’t have the heart to tell her we’re eating Italian rubber bands. I just try to swallow them with a smile.
“But,” Blair stares at the dish, “I made it just like I do at home.”
“Did you uh… ” Colt’s trying not to offend her either. “Did you boil the noodles first?”
“No,” she answers. “You don’t need to boil them.”
I can’t help it. Her cute factor is way too high. “Babe,” I answer after I swallow a doughy glob, nearly avoiding choking to death, “yeah, you do.”
After all the years of helping my mom cook, even I know that.
“No, you don’t.” But Blair is stubborn and embarrassed while she marches inside to the kitchen, and we follow, watching her dig the empty pasta box out of the garbage. “It says… ” she starts reading…
“To boil the noodles?” Fuck, this is too funny.
She’s still reading the instructions like it’s Russian while Colt starts laughing, too. “You’re a best-selling author who didn’t read the instructions.”
She stomps her foot, frustrated. “At home, they’re no-boil noodles.”
“But Kitten, home is a thousand miles away and a pot full of boiling water from here.” I piss her off, winning an empty pasta box thrown at my laughing face.
“Y’all!” But then her pretty cheeks flush. “I ruined dinner, and now you’ll starve to death.”
“We won’t starve.” Colt flicks her button nose. “There’s an ocean full of dinner. We just have to boil it first.”
“Oh my god.” She covers her face with her hands. “I’ll never live this down.”
So, I whip her around, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Hell, no, you won’t. This is going in the Blair Blunders Hall of Fame.”
“Uh!” She knocks her forehead against my bare pecs. “Kill me now.”
