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“You want more?” He reaches for another spoon.
“No. I need to be able to do yoga with you, and I have the feeling one bite will lead to ten. But I will take the recipe.”
“There’s not really a recipe. I just kind of throw a bunch of stuff in a pot and let it simmer for a few hours.”
“Seriously?” This time it’s my eyebrows that hit my hairline. “You’re the best wide receiver in the league and a gourmet chef?”
“One of the best wide receivers. And I’m not a gourmet anything. I like to eat so I learned how to cook.”
“Yeah, well, I like to eat, too, but the cooking thing doesn’t necessarily follow.”
“Guess you’ll just have to let me feed you,” he says and suddenly everything seems a lot more intimate. And that’s before he reaches up and rubs his thumb along the corner of my mouth.
I jump despite myself. “What—”
“You had some sauce,” he tells me, holding up his thumb so I can see the smear of tomato sauce.
“I—” I break off on a loud exhale as words desert me.
Shawn’s not about to let me off that easily though. “You what?” he asks.
I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t say that, though, because something tells me if I do I’m going to end up naked on Shawn Wilson’s kitchen counter. Instead, I take a couple careful steps back and say, “I think you should show me your exercise room.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” he asks as he, too, steps back.
He leans over to drop the used spoon in the sink, and for the first time, it registers that his knuckles are pretty scraped up. I think about asking him what happened, but his words are hanging between us, along with enough sexual tension to light up all of Southern California.
“If by ‘it,’ you mean doing yoga, then yes. That is what the kids are calling it.” I keep my voice firm and my knees locked as I shoot him my best schoolmarm look.
He just grins as he rubs his hands together. “I can’t wait.”
Chapter 14
Shawn
I like having Sage in my house. It’s strange considering I’m usually really particular about which women I let far enough inside to get a glimpse of the real me—even in my old place. But there’s something about her, no matter how suspicious she is of the heat between us, that makes me comfortable. That makes me want to share.
“I boug
ht some yoga mats,” I tell her as we make our way to the back of the house, where my workout room is. “Along with some other equipment that I saw in your studio.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I would have brought whatever we needed.”
I shrug. “If this works, I figure I’ll be keeping it up. And then I’ll need the equipment.”
“Oh, it’ll work. I may not like being a yoga instructor, but I’m damn good at it.” She peels off her jacket as she looks me over. “Are you going to change?”
“Yeah, sorry. I was out most of the day.” It’s my turn to look her over. She’s dressed in black and green yoga pants that mold to her very nice ass and a matching sports tank. She looks good, really good, and for a minute I think about saying to hell with yoga and trying to convince her to spend the next couple of hours with me on my very comfortable bed.
But the look in her eyes tells me she knows what I’m thinking—and that she’s not going to go along with it. I could push a little, see what happens, but that’s not what I want. I don’t want to push her into anything. I want her to come to me because she wants me enough to overcome whatever trepidation she has about being with me. Until that happens, I’ll wait.
“Why don’t you go on in, get familiar with the room and the equipment I bought, and I’ll go change. Let me know if anything’s missing and I’ll order it tonight.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. I have the essentials in my backpack, anyway.”
“Okay, then.” I give her a mock salute. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
I take the back stairs three at a time, then change into a pair of athletic shorts in record time. Remembering that she was barefoot when we worked out yesterday, I don’t bother with socks or running shoes.
