Page 44 of Triple Play
Grant stands there shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips, hair wet from the shower. He looks like he just finished destroying himself in the home gym we have in the basement.
“I’m not coming to dinner,” he says.
“Yes, you are.”
“No. I’m not.”
I grab his shirt collar—the one he’s holding, not wearing—and start dragging him toward the stairs.
“What the fuck, Dickson—”
“Sunday. Pasta. Night.” I punctuate each word with a tug. “You’re coming.”
“Let go of me.”
“Put a shirt on, and I will.”
He could fight me. He’s bigger: six foot three to my six one. But I’ve got stubbornness and the moral high ground.
Also, I think part of him wants to be dragged. Wants someone to make him be human for an hour.
He yanks his shirt on with more force than necessary. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic. Now move.”
Downstairs, Elise is already in the kitchen. She’s wearing leggings and an oversized sweater that keeps sliding off one shoulder. Her hair’s in a loose braid. She looks soft. Approachable.
Dangerous.
I’ve been trying not to think about that kiss in her room. The way she tasted. The way she fit against me like she was made for it.
The way she sent me away after.
“Hey.” I grab an apron off the hook and toss one to her. “You’re on vegetable duty.”
She catches it and raises an eyebrow. “Am I?”
“Yep. Chop that.” I gesture to the cutting board I’ve already set up: peppers, onions, garlic. “Small pieces. We’re making arrabbiata.”
“Bossy.”
“Efficient.” I flash her my best grin. “There’s a difference.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She ties the apron on and starts chopping.
Wyatt appears right at six. He doesn’t say anything; he just grabs a beer from the fridge and sits at the kitchen island to watch.
Grant stalks in behind him, still radiating don’t-touch-me energy.
I ignore it, put water on to boil, and start on the sauce.
This is my element. Cooking calms me, gives my hands something to do, and my brain something to focus on besides the constant anxiety that I’m not good enough, smart enough, or fast enough on the ice.
Elise works beside me. Our arms keep brushing, and every time it happens, my skin lights up.
She’s warm—like, physically warm. She radiates heat as if she runs ten degrees hotter than normal humans.
I want to lean into it. Into her.
