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“Shut up,” I tease. “But I’ll take it. I love to cook when I’m home. Do you cook?”
“Not really.” He takes another bite. “When I’m at my dad’s house, he fixes something for me and my brother, but when I’m at my own place, it’s mostly easy shit I can put in the microwave.”
I hold up my hands. “Please don’t say Lean Cuisine.”
He runs his thumb over his lower lip again. Fuck, that’s hot. “I throw some of them in there for kicks.”
“That’s wrong, snowboard guy. On so many levels.”
“I’m on the mountain all damn day. When I get home, I want to relax,” he counters, running his knuckles over his chiseled jaw.
“Cooking is relaxing.”
He raises his beer. “Says you.” His voice rolls over me, all deep and husky.
“I do. By the way, you don’t sound like you’re from here.”
“I’m not,” he mumbles with his mouth full.
“And?” I reply, wanting him to tell me more about himself.
“I grew up here, but my dad was from the deep South before he moved to Aspen and met my mom. I guess his accent kind of stuck with me too,” he says, grinning. “It isn’t that bad, is it?”
“No, I like it,” I tell him, and he chuckles in response.
“Nice to know we agree on something.” He waggles his brows.
“We agree on things,” I tease, and he laughs.
“What if I asked you to come over to my place?”
That catches me off guard. “Why?”
“So you can cook for me?”
“Me cook for you?” Wow, I wasn’t expecting him to ask me so casually.
“Yeah, why not. I’d like to know what you got up your sleeve,” he says, sitting back, watching me put another tortilla chip in my mouth and lick my fingers.
His eyes go wide, following the movement. He shifts in his seat, staring at my hands, before locking eyes with me.
“You are so damn cocky.” I laugh.
He steals another piece of burrito from my plate. “I fucking am. Come over on Friday evening. When do you have your party?”
“Saturday evening, and we go riding on Sunday.”
“Perfect. I’m busy from Saturday till the week after. Look at it as quid pro quo,” he says, his eyes shining.
“Quid pro quo?”
“For all the lessons,” he says.
“Sure, snowboard guy, I’m in,” I whisper, brushing my hair behind my ears.
“Relax, I see your eyes going all big. You don’t have to pay me money, but giving me a home-cooked meal would make my day.”
I nod. “Okay, I’ll cook for you. Least I can do for you rescuing me.”
