Page 271 of Playing the Pucking Game
“Anything else?”
I happily talk her through chopping up everything else we need for our ragu before passing her a garlic press.
“You know what that is, right?”
“Duh, of course.”
“Perfect,” I say as I tip the onions into the pan. “You can crush two cloves into her.”
She blinks. “Cloves?”
“Yeah.” I fight the smirk that wants to appear.
“Aren’t they a holiday thing that go in mulled wine and candles?”
“Can’t say I’ve ever had garlic in my mulled wine or candles before, but to each their own.”
Parker purses her lips, her face burning as she reaches out and smacks my shoulder.
“You’re a jerk.”
“And you’re cute.”
“Incompetent, more like. I feel like an idiot.”
“It’s never too late to learn how to cook, babe.”
“Who taught you?” she asks.
“Myself. I didn’t want to live on takeout or have a personal chef like some of the guys do. But I needed to be eating healthily. So I learned.”
“And there I was thinking you were partying every spare second.”
“I had my moments. But partying was always at the end of my list. My career always comes first.”
“I’m learning that.”
“The press likes to blow shit up,” I mutter as I break into a bulb of garlic and hand her a clove.
“Just like this?” she asks, hesitating.
“Yep, flip that over and then pop it in.”
Her eyes darken as the innuendo floats between us.
“Is that right?”
I chuckle and watch as she completes her next task.
Just over an hour later,we’re sitting at the dining table with our homemade ragu in front of us and a fresh green salad in a bowl.
Parker’s stomach growls loudly as she stares down at it. “This looks amazing.”
“You did a good job, babe,” I praise, smiling at her across the table.
“Pretty sure the only credit I can take is for not cutting a finger off.”
“I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen; I need those fingers too much.”
