Page 85 of Force Play
It’s been too long since I’ve really spent time cooking in the kitchen. I don’t do it as often as I should.
But I’m in such a good mood right now that I’m dancing around while I work on my dish, my favorite Spanish artist pumping through my Bose speaker.
I sing along off-key as I stir the vegetables in my pan. Now, I just need to add my water and let this simmer for an hour.
Once I have that ready, I let it go and lose myself in the music. I know I grew up in California, but Spanish music always makes me feel more at home. My parents always made sure I knew my culture, so I’ve spent my entire life learning about where I come from.
I close my eyes and start swaying, still singing and enjoying myself.
“Ooh, dinner and a show,” Ari chuckles, startling me just like he always does.
“Cabrón,”I mutter under my breath. “Stop sneaking up on me, Ari!”
He rears his head back and laughs. “It’s so easy to do, though.”
“You’re annoying,” I huff, crossing my arms.
“So you’ve told me,” he smirks, and I hate that he looks sexy doing it. But his look quickly changes. “Another jersey?”
My turn to smirk now. “Well, I did have a meeting today. Figured I’d get into my baseball spirit.” I turn around and show offBrookswith the number 15 stretched across my back.
Ari says something in Korean that I don’t understand, but he sounds annoyed, so it’s still working.
“What are you making?” he asks, changing the subject.
“Valencian paella,” I reply. “One of my favorite Spanish dishes.”
“I think I’ve heard of paella. That has seafood, doesn’t it?”
I shake my head. “Not in Valencia. I’m using chicken. We usually use rabbit, too, but it’s a little hard to find, and I’m not quite sure how you feel about eating that.”
His face scrunches in disgust. “I’ll try a lot of things, but I’m not going to eat a bunny.”
“I’m just using chicken, Ari,” I reply, hands on my hips. “There’s also rice, garlic, tomatoes, butter beans, peas, green beans, and spices. I promise it’s good.”
“It smells good,” he says, leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants.
Gray fucking sweatpants.
I’m pretty sure he’s trying to tease me right now, and I hate that it’s working.
“Well, it has to simmer for a while before I can add the rice. It’s still going to be about an hour and a half before it’s finished.”
“Is that why you were dancing when I walked in?” Ari moves closer to me, and one whiff of his musky cologne has me ready to climb him like a fucking tree.
“Yes,” I shrug.
“Who are you listening to?”
“Enrique Iglesias. My favorite artist.”
“Is he from Spain?” he asks.
“Madrid,” I answer. “He’s been my favorite artist basically my entire life. Though my parents wouldn’t let me listen to a lot of his music until I was in high school. Man loves to sing about sex,” I laugh.
Ari licks his lips as I say the word.
Goddamn him.
