Page 22 of The Final Deal

When I spin around to tend to the salsa, he smacks my ass with an open palm and simpers at me on his way to the backyard.

I can’t help smiling at the stove as I ladle some piping hot salsa into a bowl and place it on the counter next to a basket of tortilla chips. Leaning against the island counter, I tap a rhythm without rhyme or reason to it and maintain my focus on Dree through the window. It hurts hearing that he’s not quite okay with things, but I guess talking about it, putting it out there in the open, is half the battle.

Right as I’m setting the pot aside to let the salsa cool down, the front door opens and shuts again. I watch the doorway of the kitchen, expecting Zak to round the corner, but there’s a pause.

“Mom?”

The hope and confusion in his voice triggers an ache in my chest that springs into my eyes. He’s avoided his mom’s recipes for a long time, but has it really been this long?

It takes a second, but he appears in the doorway with confusion written all over his face as he searches the kitchen. His eyes land on me, the only other figure in the house, and his brows furrow more.

“No, sorry. Just your girlfriend, Chiquito.”

He stutters, like he remembered his mother’s been dead and gone for eight years and is embarrassed over the slipup. “S-sorry. Is that Mom’s salsa?”

“Sure is.” I point at the bowl of salsa and chips on the island. “Help yourself.”

I turn away to let him gather himself without my stare. I have to get meat out of the fridge since both of them are home now, anyway.

A chip crunches beneath the music. “Mmm.”

I smile at the sound and turn around with a pan of marinating meat in hand to find Zak standing there, chewingwith his eyes closed. It takes a moment for his eyes to reopen and focus on me.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I blurt. “Knife was too soapy, I guess.”

“Yeah, well… good thing I thought fast, huh?”

He moves past me toward the fridge. When he opens it, he reaches inside and pulls out a jar full of red liquid.

I set the pan down on the counter. “Is that?—”

“We can’t be too careful,” he says, placing it next to the pan. “I’ve been receiving communion every day, but I think supplementing has helped a lot this week.”

I grimace at it. “Hon, I don’t think you need it.”

“I’m not taking any chances. Especially now you’re living here.”

As much as the thought of cold blood sliding down his throat makes me want to gag, maybe it’ll help him figure out that he doesn’t need it when he chokes it down.

“Funny that I’m finally living here, huh?”

He pats his stomach. “If you’re gonna start cookin’ my mom’s recipes, you can kiss these abs goodbye.”

I brush my fingertips over his black Rob Zombie muscle shirt. “I loved your belly, Chiquito,” I murmur.

“What,” he starts, lifting his shirt to reveal his tattooed abs, “you’re not a fan of the hot, tattooed rock star look?”

I can’t help gawking at them and copping a feel. His stomach is hard and flat, and his skin is deliciously warm. “I mean…” A soft sigh passes my lips, and Zak grins at me devilishly. “I wouldn’t mind takin’ them for a ride.”

His arms snake around my waist and pull me close until his mouth is on mine, kissing me deeply and taking my breath away. I can’t think straight with his body pressed against mine, the hunger for him renewing all over like we’re eighteen again and unable to keep our hands off each other.

A door swings open.

Zak shoves me away so hard that I stumble backward. I quickly regain my footing and grab the pan, twist to hand it to him, and rush around the island. Adrian’s eyes narrow on us.

I point at the meat in Zak’s hands. “Men cook the meat. And take the salsa with you so I don’t eat all of it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---