AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“How could under-thinking it help in this situation?” I asked, shooting him a frustrated gaze as he came around the island.
Then right up behind me, his arms going around my sides.
And I went ahead and forgot how to breathe.
His entire body was pressed up against mine, my ass nestled against his lap, his head over my shoulder.
His hands reaching for mine, keeping his on the outsides of mine as he folded the ends in on the tortilla, then grabbed the end and rolled it up.
“There,” he said, giving my hands a little squeeze. “You can take a breath now, mama,” he said as he moved away from me.
I could hear the damn smirk in his voice, but it felt like he’d sucked all the oxygen out of the room. It didn’t come rushing back until he had moved out of the back door.
Alone, I finally sucked in a deep breath, trying to shake the thoughts that were starting to creep in, forcing myself to focus on rolling up the burritos instead.
Then onto the next task.
And the next.
I had a spread laid out on the island for lunch as Marco, one of A’s higher-ranking guys, the guy one of my cousin’s had been forced at gunpoint to pull a bullet out of years back, came in.
“Looks good,” he said, then as I schooled my face into blank lines, he seemed to remember that I wasn’t supposed to understand him. So, instead, he waved at the food, then shot me a thumbs up.
It was actually kind of sweet that he was trying to show appreciation even though he didn’t think I understood.
Reaching, I handed him a plate, then waved toward the food.
Then waited on bated breath, belly swirling a bit, as he loaded up, then started to sample.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
It never mattered to me before that I was no cook. There were always more than enough women in my life who were good at more domestic tasks, so it didn’t matter that it wasn’t a skill of mine.
But, for some reason, it mattered right then. And not just for appearances, because I was supposed to be able to cook and clean and keep house for my new “job.”
It just… mattered.
Because I’d spent hours working on it, sure. But also, because I wanted—as much as I hated to admit this even to myself—Andres to like the food.
The little moan Marco let out as he had a bite eased some of the tension in my chest.
Then he tried the next thing and let out what sounded like praise in Spanish.
Then, remembering my lack of understanding, he did that thing that people did in movies, pinching his fingers to his lips, making a kissing sound, then moving the fingers away, spreading them open.
The smile I gave him was genuine. I needed that praise more than he could have known right then.
“Of course you’re in here already,” Luis said as he walked in, shaking his head. “Is it any good?” he asked, ignoring me.
“Yeah. Especially considering she ain’t used to cooking our kind of food,” Marco said.
“I’ll take your word for it,” Luis said, shaking his head when I went to hand him a plate.
“You ain’t having any?”
“Not until I see if you get sick,” he said, and I needed to turn away and busy myself at the sink to keep from letting my feelings show on my face.
“Why would you get sick? This is what she does, ain’t it? Cook, clean…”
“Dunno, man. Doesn’t seem like she’s here to work,” Luis said, making my stomach tighten as I forced my hands to keep gathering pots and utensils, placing them in the sink.
“What would she be here for then?” Marco asked.
The pregnant silence said a lot right then.
“Oh, come on, man,” Marco said, despite it likely having been him who’d walked in on A kissing me.
“Haven’t seen a skirt around here in a while,” Luis said. “Marta had been kind of pretty, now she’s gone suddenly, and this one’s in her place…”
“Marta wasn’t A’s type,” Marco insisted.
But I was?
That shouldn’t have given me the rush of pleasure it clearly did, this warm sensation blooming through my chest.
“She is, though,” Luis said.
“Doesn’t mean she ain’t working a legit job, man,” Marco said, and his defense of me, despite what he’d likely seen, was really endearing.
Whatever they might have been continuing to say was cut off as the doors opened, and the rest of the men started piling in.
I didn’t get much of a break.
By the time the first meal was gone, and the pots, pans, and dishes were all washed, it was time to start all over again.
I was about forty minutes into that prep when I walked over toward the dining room to yank open one of the windows, a little overwhelmed with the scents in the kitchen, and overheated, despite the fact that Andres kept his house on the cool side.
