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“Pasta? You’re making pasta? Like, from scratch?”
“Yes, pasta, and yes, from scratch. I consulted numerous recipes and YouTube videos, all of which made it look easy enough to put flour, salt and eggs together.” The confidence in her tone was waning the more she spoke.
“Right, sure, sounds straightforward.” I laughed, letting her push me along, her hands warm on my back.
“Your confidence in me is astounding. Don’t you have fingers to thaw out?”
“Yes, I do, would you care to help?” I dropped my towel and spun to cage her against a wall, my still cold hands ducking up under the edge of the hoodie and finding warm, soft skin.
She yelped and squirmed. “Mack! Oh fuck, you’re freezing!”
“And you’re helping to warm me back up.” I nuzzled into her neck.
“The kitchen is a mess,” she said without any real conviction as her arms went over my shoulders.
“Yes, it is.”
“You’re naked.”
“Yes, I am.”
Her fingers started exploring across my back and shoulders as her hips rocked forward to meet mine.
“I really did want to have everything cleaned up before you got back.” The words trailed off into a low moan as I nudged the hoodie aside and sucked at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
“I don’t care about the kitchen, Chase.” Okay, so I did a little, but not enough to stop what I was doing right now.
“Me either.” She pulled me up with a tug on the hair and the heat of her kiss threatened to buckle my knees. We stumbled sideways into the bathroom, Chase trying to wiggle out of her yoga pants and socks as I pulled the hoodie off. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I’d seen her naked earlier today, but peeling off my hoodie to find her naked underneath it sent a rush of heat through me.
I would happily surf in arctic waters every fucking day if I got to warm back up like this afterward.
27
CHASE
Mackand I watched as the dough I’d made disintegrated almost as soon as it hit the rapidly bubbling water.
“I think we might need to scratch pasta making off your list of potential hobbies,” he said. It hadn’t happened in any of the YouTube videos I watched earlier. Granted, my dough didn’t look like it was quite the same texture, but still, it shouldn’t be doing that, should it?
“Maybe I could take a cooking class?” I dropped another noodle into the pot. The result was the same.
“You’re not going to take a cooking class,” he said with a smile in his voice.
“I’m not going to take a cooking class,” I agreed. I’d probably burn the whole place down. I didn't understand why I was so bad at this. I made the dough just like they said, mostly, it shouldn’t be floating around in chunks rather than the long strands I’d rolled out. How had I learned nothing from years of watchingIron Chefand theGreat British Bake Off?
This wasn’t my first kitchen failure. I’d lost count of the number of things I’d attempted only to have things flop, or burn, or just taste awful. Food just wasn’t my thing. Maybe it was time to accept I was more suited toNailed It!
Mack pulled me into his side. “You want me to order pizza?”
“Well it’s not like we’re going to be able to eat this now, is it?”
“I might have some noodles in the pantry...”
“Do you really trust my sauce when the noodles I made look like that?” We both peered into the pot.
“Pepperoni.”
“And mushroom.”
