Page 76 of Bound To Be Mine

I ran my hand over the stainless steel surface. “This thing costs ten grand.”

“Really?” She sounded genuinely surprised. “I had no idea.”

“It’s top of the line.” I opened the lid, checking out the burners. Everything looked pristine. “Have you ever even fired this thing up?”

“Once or twice. I’m not much of a griller.”

I turned to look at her. “Do you like steak?”

She blinked. “Uh, yes?”

“Can I use your grill?”

“You want to use my grill,” she repeated slowly.

“Yes. Please. I’m begging you.” I knew I sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t care. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve grilled a proper steak?”

She was looking at me like I’d lost my mind. “Why are you so excited about this?”

“Because I can’t grill in my penthouse,” I said. “It’s a fire hazard. The building has strict rules about open flames on balconies. I’ve been living in that apartment for years, and I haven’t been able to grill once. Not once, Mandy.”

She started laughing. “Oh my God, you’re serious.”

“Dead serious.” I looked back at the grill. “This is a beautiful piece of equipment. It deserves to be used.”

“You would have married me just for grill access, wouldn’t you?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “No question.”

She was full-on laughing now. “I can’t believe this. Of all the things about this house, you’re losing your mind over the grill.”

“I’m a simple man with simple needs.”

“You’re insane.”

“Can I use it or not?”

“Yes, fine, you can use the grill.” She was still smiling. “But I want it in writing that when we get divorced, the grill stays with me.”

I clutched my chest dramatically. “You wound me.”

“Those are my terms.”

“Fine. But I’m keeping visitation rights.”

“Deal.” She shook her head, still grinning. “I don’t have steaks in the house. We can do a grocery delivery tomorrow.”

I was already planning what I’d cook tomorrow. Ribeye, maybe. Or a good New York strip. Something with a nice char on the outside and perfectly medium-rare on the inside.

“I’ll go to the store tomorrow,” I said. “I want to pick my meat.” The second the words were out of my mouth, I realized what I said. “You know what I mean.”

“Okay, well, while you’re picking your meat, I have a few meetings tomorrow.”

And then we were standing there with an awkward tension building by the second.

“Do you need anything else?” she asked.

“No.”