Page 270 of Playing the Pucking Game
I snort a laugh. “I promise you, I’m not. Have you ever seen me draw?”
Parker giggles. “Remember that piece of art you did in middle school that was meant to be a family portrait? I thought your mom was going to end you right then and there.”
“I must admit, it wasn’t the most flattering of paintings, but I worked really hard on that.”
“I’m sure you did, baby,” she soothes, gently rubbing her arm down my bare back.
Her touch has goose bumps erupting instantly.
“Okay, so art aside. You’re a pro hockey player who can cook like a chef, and look at you,” she says, waving her hand up and down my body. I smirk. I spend hours working out; I can’t help that I’m cut and look great on billboards advertising underwear, or anything really.
“Can’t say I’m complaining about the view either, pretty girl.”
Despite everything we did in the shower, this is what makes her cheeks burn red.
She’s standing in my kitchen, wearing one of my T-shirts and nothing else. She has a knife in her hand and an onion on the chopping board before her. Prior to this conversation, she was looking at it like it might jump up and bite her.
“What did you want me to do with this again?” she asks with a groan.
“Dice it.”
“Right. Yep. Dice,” she mutters, rolling it around and holding the knife as if she’s about to stab it.
“You know how to do that, right?”
“Of course, I’m just…you know…warming up.”
“Warming up?”
“Uh-huh.”
Making a decision, she grabs it and moves to cut it through the center.
“Why don’t you try it this way?” I say gently before turning the onion so she’ll cut through the root. “It’ll help keep it all together.”
She nods and does as she’s told as I move in behind her. Being close to her is too tempting.
Her fresh-from-the-shower scent hits my nose and I sigh, my breath making her drying hair flutter over her shoulder.
A groan rumbles in her throat as I press in behind her, and her eyes fall closed.
“Watch, Parker. You have a sharp knife if your hand.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t distract me,” she warns, sticking her ass out and wiggling it against my cock.
“Pretty girl,” I groan.
“What do I do next, Chef?” she teases.
Unmoving from her back, I talk her through how to dice an onion while having an arm wrapped around her stomach, pinning her against me.
“Peppers next,” I tell her, reaching out and placing one on her board.
“And what jobs are you doing?”
“Teaching, babe.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t complain as she chops the pepper.
