Page 73 of Bombshell (Whiskey Dolls 1)

Before I could reassure her that it didn’t matter, that I’d love her anyway, the sound of the timer going off at the station beside ours caught our attention.

As a couple, Tali and Nick pulled the oven door open and slid out a perfectly roasted chicken.

But seriously, what kind of cooking instructor had their students doing a roasted fucking chicken on week three? It was like shewantedus to fail.

“Look, baby!” Tali said much louder than necessary, shooting a snide look toward her sister. “We cooked it perfectly!”

“You know what you can do, Tali?” Marin started, her tone one I recognized all too well, a tone that meant I was going to need to hold her back or hit up an ATM for bail money. “You and Nick can take your perfect chicken, grease it up nice and good, and shove it right up—”

“All right.” I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back against me, slapping a hand over her mouth so she couldn’t finish. “You’re letting them get in your head, baby. What did we talk about, huh?” I spun her around to face me, placing my hands on her shoulders and crouching so we were eye to eye. “Keep cool. Keep calm. And whatever happens, happens.”

She closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Even if that chicken is a block of charcoal when it comes out of that oven.”

“Exactly.”

“But Ireallywant to win this.”

“It doesn’t matter—wait, what? Win what?” She smiled sheepishly, giving me those freaking doe eyes she knew I couldn’t resist. “Marin,” I said in warning, “what did you do?”

“Nothing major.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Hey, Mar?” Tali called. “Don’t worry about bringing your own cleaning supplies. You can use ours.”

I turned back to my woman with an arched brow. “Cleaning supplies?”

She let out a huff before speaking in rapid fire. “If we screw this chicken up, we have to clean Matt’s bathroom every Sunday for the next two months.”

I stumbled back, bracing on the counter to keep from falling to my ass. I’d been over to Tali and Nick’s house plenty of times now, so I knew for a fact that their son Matt’s bathroom was literally a hell pit.

“Why would you do that?” I cried. “You put way too much faith in us!”

“I know! I just get so excited when I’m watching those cooking shows, and I think, if they can do it, then I can too, right? I mean, they make it look so easy it gives me a false sense of confidence! It’s allFood Network’sfault!”

The timer on our oven dinged just then and we both turned to look at it like we were waiting for Satan himself to climb out.

“Well, I guess it’s now or never,” she mumbled before looking back at me. “No matter what happens, just know I love you.”

I glared at her. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to stick you with that bathroom all by yourself.”

“This is partially true. But Idolove you.”

I sighed in exasperation. “I love you too.”

“Oh for the love of all that’s holy!” our cooking instructor, a normally congenial woman named Nancy, yelled. “Just take the damn bird out of the oven before you burn my classroom down!”

I slid the oven mitts on my hands and bent down next to Marin as she pulled the oven door open.

I held my breath as I carefully pulled the roasting pan out. The chickenlookedgood, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

I sat it on the worktop cautiously, and Marin and I took a step back so Nancy could come over and shove the meat thermometer in the bird’s ass—or wherever you were supposed to put a meat thermometer.

A hush fell over the room, so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Then, “It’s at the perfect temperature!” Nancy announced, and the whole class started cheering.

“Yes! I did it!” Marin yelled, throwing her hands in the air. “I did it! Suck on that, Tali! Your son’s bathroom can stay a pit until the end of time!”

“Babe, I think you meanwedid it.”

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