by Piper Rayne
I tucked an errant curl behind my ear. “It’s, uh, going.” I bit my lip to keep from giggling. Yup, steamy thoughts and I was going to be needing a change of clothes.
“Oh, my God, you’re going to be the cutest pregnant girl I know, and to think you’ve done this before.” Winnie lightly punched me in the arm. I pushed her back, playfully.
“I’m not pregnant yet, but Evan sure does get an A for effort.” I scrunched my nose, imagining his scent and the taste of his skin. If only I could bottle him up—he was potent and left me love-drunk thinking about him.
“As long as he doesn’t give Chase any ideas. I’m not ready for that by a long shot, but I don’t mind when my friends are. I make great aunt material.”
“Well, you’ll be the first I tell.”
“Oh, good. Do you think it’ll be a girl? Can it please be a girl?” Winnie clapped her hands and spun around.
I chuffed. “Pretty sure it doesn’t work like that.”
“I’ll text Chase to tell Evan to make sure he knocks you up with some girly DNA then, okay?” She pulled out her phone and typed off a quick message.
“Sure.” I snorted. I could imagine Evan’s reaction to being told he needed to put a girl child in my belly. He’d probably ralph in his patrol car, wondering where I’d deliver the baby this time. He loved our son, but I was sure a girl would give him extra gray hairs. Although, a girl with his eyes and cute nose would be adorable. I found myself melting at the idea of a little baby girl and lots of frilly pink to even out the household I was currently outnumbered in.
“Perfect, because I’m dying to godmother the shit out of her. I’ll be Auntie Win, and I can stock up on all the Hello Kitty and princess stuff I can get my hands on.” Winnie loved fashion, which translated to her upscale pet boutique, but I could see her trying to market high-end baby gear if she could.
We chuckled and walked into the home economics classroom at the high school, taking our seats behind tall desks made for crafting and cooking.
“I can’t believe how lucky we are that Taylor suggested this cooking class, and even better that Carmen is teaching it.” I put my purse down on the seat next to us.
It was a holiday miracle between Thanksgiving and Christmas I hadn’t burned the house down. I knew Evan wasn’t looking to remodel the kitchen right now, so I’d limited my cooking to the few things I’d mastered under Taylor’s strict FaceTime supervision. I couldn’t have her living in my pantry despite the desire to win the lottery and pay her to come over. So, I had to stick with what I knew.
Luckily, Evan didn’t mind a lot of chicken and pasta because I suck at cooking rice. I was pretty sure there was a rice cooker with my name on it under the Christmas tree, and it was sweet that Evan thought he might be able to change the inevitable.
Who burns rice? Apparently, rice and I didn’t mix.
“I know, it was like someone magically knew that this would be the perfect thing. I know Chase doesn’t say it, but I’m an awful cook except for rice. Must be ingrained in my Asian DNA.” She air-quoted before chuffing into a peal of laughter that had half the class giving us the stink eyes. Winnie was half Japanese and thought all jokes related to cooking were hilarious. I assumed some of the women in here were pretty serious about cooking even though this was a beginner course. It was designed at teaching us how to make a full dinner menu by the end of the session that we could take home and eat. I was mostly looking forward to feeding my husband something edible and not terrifying.
“Nice, Winnie. I’m just glad the class hadn’t sold out when we registered. It’ll be nice to learn something new and not burn anymore pots.”
“I’m pretty sure Chase is going to hire Hunter to redo the kitchen, and I’d like to preserve said kitchen for a long time,” Winnie said, rolling her eyes.
“Hello, ladies!” A young man walked into the classroom, clapping his hands excitedly and taking off his wool jacket. He looked like a beefed-up version of that famous celebrity chef I watched on TV while I folded laundry. Olive skin and broad shoulders that stretched his T-shirt taught across his chest. His face sported a trimmed beard and hair tied up on his head in a bun. Tattoos wrapped around his biceps, and I shared a bug-eyed look with Winnie.
“Holy crap,” I whispered to her.
“Seriously. Girl, get me a fire extinguisher because it is hot in here.” Winnie waved herself off dramatically.
“Who is this guy?” I checked my phone for our email registration because Taylor’s college bestie and bakery owner was supposed to be our teacher. Definitely not this guy, looking like he stepped off the pages of a hipster model magazine.
“So, where are my cooking virgins? Don’t be shy. Raise those hands, ladies.” Hot chef winked at us, practically flexing his pecs under his T-shirt. He wore scrub pants in gray striping like a chef might, except they looked barely legal hanging on his hips. Was he going commando? I couldn’t tell and I shook my head to get rid of the image.
“Um, I have a question. I thought Carmen Malone was our teacher.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Carmen has the flu. So you are stuck me, Federico.” He smiled brightly and went about the room, handing out aprons and helping the ladies in our class tie them on. It was a little odd and when he gave us our aprons, I swore he tied mine a little snug, tugging on the back so I was bumped against him.
“Ah, good, nice and tight, yeah?” His words were whispered against my neck, and I shivered with a chill that bordered on hot creepy depending on how one might view the awkwardness of the situation.
“Um, yeah.” I winced and stepped away. Winnie was quicker and had hers tied on before he could reach her.
“So tonight, my beautiful doves, we shall cook coq au vin.”
Winnie leaned into me and whispered, “Did he just say cock?”
“Cock with something,” I whispered back behind my hand as Federico gave the class instructions in his over-the-top, flirtatious manner.
“Do you think we’ll get kicked out before class is over?” Winnie said from behind her hand.
I shrugged. “He’s passing out bottles of wine. Let’s hope we don’t set the place on fire with a Molotov cocktail.”
“Good point. Last time I made dinner for Chase, I practically summoned a demon, so what could possible go wrong under supervision?”
Yes, what could go wrong, indeed?
Winnie thanked him for the ingredients as we both worked together to cook something halfway presentable.
The good news was that with so many eyes in the kitchen, we didn’t burn anything, but Federico did come over quite a bit to supervise with his roaming eyes. Good thing he kept his hands on his hips, except when he stood behind me and wrapped his fingers around mine, which had been stirring the pot. Holy awkward. I made a coughing sound and he let go, stepping back. I was about to say something to him, but he’d already moved on to the next pair of ladies cooking. Winnie gave me a shrug and we let it go in an unspoken look between us.
Class finally ended and we walked together to our cars and drove home with our Tupperware containers of dinner. I couldn’t decide if our teacher was putting the moves on us or if he was just that way, a little odd and lacking in boundaries. I’d never had an awkward encounter like that before except at the bar when I worked there serving drinks, but David and Andy were always there to run interference. I never felt unsafe, just weird.
All I knew was that Evan ate dinner with a smile right up until I told him about the finer details of cooking with Federico…
My husband quietly and meticulously worked on his portion, cutting each piece with precision as he then put it into his mouth. He made the appropriate sounds of approval and thanked me with a kiss. He then folded his hands over his flat stomach with a strange expression on his face. He asked me if I liked the class and if it was helpful before grunting some intelligible comment about handsy teachers getting their asses kicked. It was sweet but unnecessary, which I told him repeatedly as he led me from the table and right int
o the bedroom.
Dinner was followed by a thorough lesson on dessert. If I wasn’t pregnant before this, I should be by now.
5
Evan
“I can’t believe this is happening.” I slapped my hand on the table, making the salt and pepper shakers topple, cursing as I did it. I righted them before pushing them back against the wall, frustrated with Remi’s retelling of the class experience.
That fucking-fucker-cooking-cocksucker.
“If I’m not mistaken, it was your idea to sign them up for cooking classes.” Chase took the salt shaker and put a tiny bit in his hand before tossing it over his right shoulder for luck. I was going to need more than luck if I was going to get our ladies out of this mess I didn’t want to own up to.
“There is no way in hell my wife is going to learn how to cook from a stealth asshole.” I continued my cursing litany.
“I’m sorry? A what now?” Chase leaned over the table, pretending to look super interested. I knew him well enough to know he was screwing with me, but the joke was on him because I had a plan.
“You know, the type. We’ve all been there. Super nice. Really helpful. Probably donates to causes like saving dolphins because they’re squeaky and cute, and then bam! Before you know it, he’s lured the love of your life away under the guise of knowing what’s better for her balls deep. Like fucking kale and shit.”
“Huh. I didn’t realize kale was so convincing. You’re sounding a little like Damien when it comes to my sister. Weirdly obsessed.” He made jazz hands in my face, and I slapped them away.
Chase insinuated I was over protective. Fine. Sure. I could live with that. It wasn’t like I was going to get drunk and try to fight him, though. I was smarter than his brother-in-law. I was a cop.
“So, you’re saying you don’t mind some smarmy dude-bro hitting on your girl and teaching her the proper stir technique for cock chicken?” I made a rude gesture with my hands, and Chase’s eyes popped a little as he sat back from the table.
“Man, are you okay?” he asked.
“No. I’m not okay. I’m pissed. Just who does he think he is dictating between Teflon and cast iron.”
“A chef?” Chase said with a look on his face that said I’d gone and lost my mind. Maybe, but no fucking-fucker-cooking-cocksucker was going to stealth asshole my wife.
“Do you even know the cost difference between Teflon and cast iron pans?” I’d work overtime if I had to pay for more pans. Better pans. The best pans. Heck, I’d order them from that froufrou store at the mall with two last names if it meant Remi was safe at home with her nightly attempts to burn the house down and age me faster.
“Buddy, I don’t think this is about pans.” Chase halted the chugging of my beer by putting his hand over mine. “Maybe we should slow down on the beer.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Shots of tequila then.” I waved down the new, yet-to-be-named barmaid and placed my order for two rounds of shots. Alcohol might burn this stupid idea from my brain. What was I thinking instigating a cooking class with a substitute teacher who was younger, buffer, and probably vegan as all giddy up. Not that I was prejudiced against vegans and whatnot, but surely all that tofu fucked with his head if he thought he was going to make a move on my almost pregnant wife.
“So what’s the plan? The girls really enjoyed the class.” Chase coughed into his elbow before downing his beer.
I clapped him on the shoulder with an idea. “We, my friend, are going to enroll in the class.” I shook his shoulder for good measure.
“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Chase clearly didn’t agree.
Oh, I’d make him get on board. This job required a wingman so I didn’t punch this guy in the mouth and knock out his charcoal brushed teeth, me being an officer of the law and whatnot.
“It’s perfect.” I huffed, quite pleased with myself for solving the problem to my satisfaction. “The girls will think we want couple time, and we’ll go and make sure the dude-bro isn’t trying to get in their panties, and then we’ll go home and fuck them senseless so they forget all about Mr. Miyagi in the kitchen.” I gave Chase a fake karate chop and dodge him pushing me back.
“Okay, while I like the idea of fucking my girlfriend into oblivion, not to be crude, because I do, but don’t you think they’re going to catch on to our, uh, jealous cave-manning?”
“Not sure cave-manning is a verb, doc, but I’ll go with it. Personally, I’d love to club the guy upside the head, but whatever.” As long as I could get Chase on board, this plan was solid or as solid as it could be. If anyone was going to be a stealth asshole, it was going to be me taking care of my sweet girl.
“Also, he’s not a karate master. He does Krav Maga.”
“Yeah, and I’m Mike Tyson with a hunger for ears. He’s not coming near my wife,” I declared with maybe one beer too many under my belt.
“Maybe we can get them to quit?”
“Are you kidding me, Chase Calloway? When half the town population is female and they’re all drooling over him? Not likely. No, my friend, we must make the ultimate sacrifice.” I knocked his chest twice with my hand.
“Great. I can’t wait. Pound that chest of yours a little more, Evan.”
I obliged my buddy with a thump against my chest. He ignored me, but I knew he was with me. We didn’t grow up playing football since we were toddlers, having each other’s back for nothing.
“Besides, he’s probably the kind of creeper whose passenger side door doesn’t open on dates. It’s our husbandly and boyfriendly duty to save the women of this town from this no-talent cooking clown.”
“All right. Someone has clearly had too much tequila with his beer when he’s making up words.”
“I’m telling you, passenger side door, no scrub, man.” I shook my head back and forth, feeling the slosh between my brain and ears.
“All right TLC, time to go home.” Chase stood and helped me up to the car.
I would like to say I remembered the ride home in Chase’s car, but I woke up on the couch with a toddler sticking his finger in my nose and whispering “Dadda.” As much as I loved my son, I didn’t enjoy the cranial exploration his digit was making of my brain, which felt like it had been tossed of out a car window sometime between 10:00 p.m. and 2:00 a.m.
“Hey, buddy.” I grunted as my little man jumped precariously on my not-so-settled stomach.
“Oh, you’re awake, good. I was so worried when Chase had to help you inside. I just figured the couch was easier.” Remi wrung her hands together, and I felt like the ultimate idiot for making her worry. Some awesome husband I was turning out to be. For all my cave-manning, I wasn’t doing a good job if she looked upset.
“Ethan, not daddy’s nose.” Remi picked our boy up, propping him on her tiny hip, sashaying out of the living room. The motion of watching her walk away made me queasy as did the smell of slightly charred eggs and bacon.
I loved my wife.
I loved my wife.
I loved my wife, and I sort of needed this cooking class to work out.
“Sweet girl, what are you cooking?” I cupped a hand over my nose and mouth to hold back the retching feeling. Served me right for drinking too much last night while I commiserated with Chase. Based on how my stomach was feeling, one would think I was the one with morning sickness. I reached for my phone to check my email and sure enough, I registered us both for the damn class. Good. We’d have to see it through, and I’d have to explain it to Remi before the next class.
“I just thought I’d make breakfast. I was craving eggs and bacon.” At least my nose hadn’t been wrong in identifying the food. That meant we’d stepped up from fire and charcoal to actual food groups. “Don’t worry, the coffee is fool proof.” Remi hummed in the kitchen, and I rolled off the couch to the floor on my knees before struggling to get up.
“Dadda.” Ethan wobbled back and grabbed my hand.
“Looks like you need a shower like Daddy, little man.” Ethan made some g
runting noises, and I laughed, tweaking his nose. My phone beeped and it was a message from Chase.
Chase: I have to fix the plumbing in the kitchen sink.
Grinning, I typed back.
Me: Do I want to know?
Chase: Accidental fork in the sink’s garbage disposal.
Me: You could call your brother-in-law. He’s the resident pipe layer.
I could only imagine Chase wanting to throttle me through the phone.
Chase: I’ll pass. See you in class on Tuesday.
“Remi, how long until it’s ready? I’m going put us stinky boys in the shower.”
“Ten minutes.”
I’d be out in five just to make sure the house was still standing.
“Come on, Son. We have to save Mommy from the dreaded pirate chef, and we need to be squeaky clean.”
He gave me a toothy grin and stuffed his thumb into his mouth. Yeah, us Rooneys had to stick together.
6
Remi
“Sweet girl, I have a surprise for you!” My sexy husband sauntered into the bedroom, catching me in his arms.
“Oh, good. I love them.” I didn’t. I hated surprises and since I was a little tender from Evan’s extra attention this weekend, I was hoping he might say he was tired and just wanted to snuggle tonight. I could barely keep the yawn from coming out.
“No, you don’t, you little fibber, but that’s okay because this is a good one.” He twirled me around and then landed a kiss on my lips that morphed into something hot and heavy. My hands snaked around his neck, and my nails scoured his scalp in a give-me-more motion against his shaved head.
