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“Thank God you didn’t say well-done. I just might have to drop your meat on the ground before throwing it on the grill,” I tease, though not really. I’ve never understood someone who wants their meat cooked until it’s practically jerky.
Latham chuckles. “I like my meat juicy, tender, and the perfect shade of pink,” he replies, making my pulse quicken. His eyes blaze with dark fury, and something tells me he’s not at all referring to the slab of meat I’m about to throw on the grill.
Needing to step away and cool off (yes, I’m considering throwing my head in a bucket of cold water), I move and start to head to my back porch. I whistle for Snuggles, but when I glance over my shoulder, she’s attached to Latham’s leg, completely ignoring my call. When I reach my sliding glass door, the cool air pelts me in the face, helping calm down my overheated skin.
I pull the two steaks from the fridge, thankful I grabbed them from the butcher. My original thought was Jensen and Max would stop by to help, later, after their ball game, but I haven’t seen my little brother. I guess when I told him I had this project in the bag, I wasn’t expecting him to actually listen. Placing the steaks on the counter, I grab my mallet and give them a few good whacks. Just as I’m swinging, I hear the door slide open.
“Huh, can’t say I was expecting someone to beat my meat for me today.”
“It helps that I’m picturing it as your face,” I reply without looking up from the thick ribeye.
“Good to know you think of me when you have your hands on meat,” he says, coming over and turning on my faucet to wash his hands. “I left the house under the tree.”
“Thank you. I’m going to paint it tomorrow,” I tell him, dropping the mallet in the sink and grabbing the seasoning.
“Can I help?” he asks, coming to stand beside me, resting his hip against the counter. I can feel his eyes following my every move.
“Just grab us each a cold drink,” I tell him, heading to the door with the steaks, tongs, and seasoning.
By the time Latham joins me on the porch, I have dinner on the grill and am taking a seat at the patio table. “You have a nice area back here,” he says, setting down two cold beers and taking the seat directly across from me.
“Thanks, it’s really what sold me on the house.”
“You bought it?”
“Last year,” I tell him, taking a big pull from the bottle. “I had rented before, but never had any room. Plus, most rentals don’t allow pets, and I knew I wanted to adopt a dog.”
We both glance over to the doghouse, where Snuggles is sleeping, big paw hanging out of the opening. “I’d say you did well.”
“That must have been hard for you to say.”
“Why?” he asks, catching me off guard.
“I didn’t expect so many compliments today.”
“I’ve always paid you compliments, Sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes. “Is telling me my hair is short like a boy’s and then snapping my bra a compliment?”
He grins. “The highest of compliments.”
“Right. So when you told me my ass looked fat in my cheerleading uniform, that was a good thing?”
“I don’t remember. Do you still have that old uniform? Maybe you could put it on and refresh my memory,” he replies with a wicked grin and an evil glint in his eyes. “Besides, I do recall you telling everyone in high school you caught me learning how to kiss by making out with the oak tree in my backyard.”
I snort, and not even very ladylike. “They called you Woody for days.”
“The guys were scared to get undressed in front of me in the locker room,” he growls, making me laugh even harder.
“Bet that was awkward,” I giggle.
“Awkward doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he says as I stand up and flip the steaks to sear the other side.
We’re both quiet as I get the meal ready. I bring out plates, silverware, napkins, and the sides I had picked up from the deli. “I hope you like spaghetti salad. Max loves it, and I was prepared to have them over tonight,” I say as Latham sets the table.
“Max is your nephew, right?”
“Yes,” I reply with a smile. “Jensen was married to Ashley Taylor for a few years and had Max.”
