Page 31 of The Ruckup
Of course they did. They can’t stand letting me live my own life. Even during my marriage, they meddled. For a lot of it, they almost seemed to think I was the problem. That my behavior was what made Drake act the way he did. They picked apart everything I said or did, looking for reasons I was instigating him.
That’s why I’m not shocked at how deep they’re digging into my choices now.
That’s also why I texted my mother to let her know I wouldn’t be over. And that I have the flu. I’m already not feeling Christmasy, and I can’t imagine spending time with my parents will help that any. Especially not now that I know they’ve obviously been informed of what happened between Leo and Drake.
“I am so sorry.” I lean against the counter, hating that I’ve gotten Leo tangled up in my mess. “I should go back to my apartment. You don’t need to be involved in this mess.”
“No fucking way.” Leo starts shaking his head as he walks toward me. “Drake knows where you live, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to put yourself in danger because my parents are assholes.”
Ugh. Now I feel even worse. “Your parents aren’t assholes, Leo.”
Leo stops right next to me, reaching up to smooth back a little of the dark hair that’s fallen from the messy bun I tied it into so it wouldn’t get in my way while I made my favorite comfort breakfast. “Actually, it’s looking more and more like they are.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “So I guess we’re both in the same boat.” His brown brows pinch together as he looks over the PJs I’m still wearing. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go?”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not going.” Lifting the pan I’m still holding, I slide it onto the biggest burner. “And in case anyone asks, I have a terrible case of the flu.”
Leo watches as I flip open the carton of eggs sitting on the counter. “If anyone asks, I’m not telling them shit about you. You’re none of their business.”
A smile works its way onto my mouth as I open the bag of corn tortillas Leo and I picked up when we went to the grocery store yesterday.
I’ve never felt like my life was private. Someone was always in my business—usually my parents, and then Drake—giving opinions and advice I didn’t want. Only they didn’t see it as advice or opinions. My parents—and Drake—gave directions. Orders. Made demands. And they didn’t stop there. As evidenced this morning, my parents also love to tell anyone they know what’s going on in my life.
Finally having someone who wants to keep my secrets makes me feel like I’m not alone. Maybe for the first time ever.
Leo tips his head toward where I’m using his cutting board and mediocre knife to cut the tortillas into little squares. “What are you making?”
“Migas.”
Hoping not to go overboard buying a bunch of food and ingredients for Leo to have to deal with when I’m able to go back to my apartment, I stuck with the basics. Tortillas, cheese, onions, jalapenos, tomatoes. A handful of spices. Little things I could use to give Leo’s cooking just a tiny bit more personality. He didn’t seem upset when I suggested a little more flavor in hisfood, and I’m kind of excited to see what he thinks of the way I cook.
I peek his way as I finish chopping the tortillas. “Did you eat with your parents?”
“Didn’t make it that far.” He turns his back to the counter, leaning against it as I put a swirl of oil in the pan and set it to heat. “Shit pretty much hit the fan the second I pulled up.”
I open my mouth, but all I get out is, “I?—”
“I hope you’re not about to tell me you’re sorry, because you’re the last person in this scenario who should be apologizing.” Leo sighs. “Unfortunately, I don’t see any of them offering up apologies in the foreseeable future.”
I snort as I add the chopped tortillas to the hot oil. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard my parents apologize for anything in my life.”
Leo slowly nods. “Same here.” Straightening from where he’s leaned against the counter, Leo turns his attention to what I’m doing. “What can I do to help?”
I’ve watched Leo cook a couple times now, so I shouldn’t be surprised at his offer, but it’s still so foreign to me to have a man ready and willing to participate in the task I was raised to believe was my responsibility alone. Drake barely set foot in the kitchen when we were married, and my dad certainly never cooked.
But I like the idea of having someone to cook with. Some of my best memories are from Abuela and me in the kitchen together. Talking about life while she taught me all her favorite recipes. Including the one I’m about to teach Leo.
It’s not really a recipe in the traditional sense. There’s no specific amounts or ingredients. It can be tweaked based on what’s in your refrigerator, and your spice preference.
Hopefully, Leo likes it spicy, because I enjoy a little heat.
Speaking of heat…
Why is a man chopping vegetables so attractive? I nearly burn our tortillas when I get distracted by the corded muscle of his forearm flexing with each movement. His hands are so big the knife looks comically small in them, but his skill set is pretty impressive. He’s clearly cut his way through plenty of veggies.
It’s the seasoning part he seems to skip.
Once the tortillas are browned, I scoop them out onto a paper towel-lined plate and instruct Leo to add the onions and peppers. He doesn’t question me. Doesn’t seem annoyed that I’m telling him what to do. Just does exactly as I say.
“Did your abuela teach you how to make this?” Leo asks as he stirs around the peppers and onions.
