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This was not an exaggeration.
His dick alone was deserving of mad props.
Sean bent and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Tell me whatever you want. Just do it while I make us some dinner. I’m fuckin’ starved.”
My brows shot up as he pulled away. “Dinner? Ooh, am I getting my chips?” I asked excitedly, bouncing on my toes.
Sean smiled over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.
Fuck. Yes.
I was getting my chips.
After cleaning up in the bathroom and setting our shoes against the wall so they weren’t in the middle of the floor anymore, I walked over to one of the bar stools at the counter overlooking the kitchen and sat down, watching Sean in his element.
He grabbed two skillets out of a cabinet—a cast-iron one and another that was much deeper than the skillets I had at my place—then he went to the refrigerator and pulled out potatoes, some meat wrapped in butcher’s paper, two sticks of butter, and some garlic. He poured oil into the deep skillet and got that heating up, along with the cast-iron, then he got to work on the potatoes.
And he did all this wearing nothing but those jeans.
It hit me then, while I was admiring Sean’s body, that he did not have any clue how I felt about the way he looked, and that bothered me.
“You’re really hot,” I said.
Sean paused his work on the potatoes and looked up at me. His mouth twitched.
“And sexy,” I continued. “I haven’t been this attracted to someone my entire life, I don’t think. I like everything about you.”
Sean stared at me, mouth no longer twitching, but there was an intensity in his eyes now I really liked seeing on him, enough that I opened my mouth to list each and every single quality about Sean’s appearance so I could keep seeing it, but then he set down the knife he was holding, stepped over to the sink so he was standing directly in front of me, and leaned forward while grabbing hold of my neck. He pulled me gently, meeting me halfway across the counter, and pressed his mouth firm against mine.
It was a short kiss, but damn, was it hot.
He pushed his tongue inside my mouth. He sucked on my lips. He growled like he wanted to fuck me.
Then Sean leaned away but kept his hand on my neck, our faces close. He stared into my eyes.
“Everything,” he said in that deep, gravelly voice. “I feel that too.”
Holy crap. Sean liked everything about me. Everything.
“Awesome,” I whispered.
He chuckled. “Even that—you bein’ funny is sexy,” he informed me, releasing my neck and moving back over to the cutting board.
“That’s good, since I’m hilarious at least five days a week,” I told him.
Sean picked up the knife, doing this grinning, then he got back to work while I traced my fingertips around my mouth, still feeling him there.
I watched him start on the chips.
I stared at Sean’s hand and his fingers curled under as he chopped at rapid speed. Perfectly uniform thin slices of potato toppled over onto the cutting board.
I’d bet the hair on my head each of those slices measured the exact same size.
Val had said Sean had always been a good cook, and I’d watched Sean plenty of times before do his thing at Whitecaps. I knew he had mad skill, but remembering those first couple days after he got hired, something didn’t make sense.
“Whitecaps wasn’t your first job as a cook, right?” I asked, chin resting on my hand as I studied him. “You’ve been a cook for a while?”
Sean kept his focus as he answered. “Working cook, no. I did shit on my own ’cause no one was around to do it for me. Had a handful of jobs before Nate gave me a break, but nothing I kept longer than a couple weeks. I fucked around a lot back then.”
“But you’ve had your skills for a while…”
Sean jerked his shoulder. “Guess so.”
“So how come you cut yourself so much when you first started at Whitecaps?”
He stayed silent for a moment, thinking as he prepared the next potato. “I don’t know. Nerves, I guess.”
“Why were you so nervous?”
“Needed the job,” he stated plainly, but his voice sounded tighter. “I was tryin’ to be someone for my girls. They deserved it. I couldn’t mess up again.”
My stomach instantly knotted up.
I sat up taller and watched Sean grab a large bowl out of a cabinet and dump the potato slices in.
“But…the girls at work, we all call you Stitch,” I said.
He smirked and began seasoning the potatoes.
I didn’t understand his reaction. He should’ve been angry about that.
“Why do you let us?” I asked. “We were poking a little fun, and you were scared you’d mess up and ruin your chances of seeing your girls again. My God, Sean. Why didn’t you tell us not to call you that? Why don’t you?”
