DISHING UP LOVE

by Robichaux, KD

  “I think it had more to do with the breakfast you insisted on me eating before the flight. And then we hit a spot of turbulence about halfway here that made me pee a little,” I inform him.

  He chuckles. “So what you’re saying is you need a shower that includes a toothbrush. Got it. Let’s grab your bag and get you home.”

  And that’s exactly what we do. He drives me straight to his house, which is a gorgeous two-story expanse that embodies everything I imagine Curtis to be. All the walls are bright white with a mix of masculine and modern furniture and splashes of color in the artwork on the walls. We don’t take the time to go see his kitchen, because I want to wash off that plane smell and the gum he gave me in the car isn’t doing anything to make my mouth taste better. I don’t think anything will until I’m able to scrub it with my charcoal toothpaste and gargle the hell out of an entire bottle of mouthwash.

  At first, it seems like he wants to give me privacy, unsure if I want to take a shower alone, but when I leave the door open to his en suite and give him a playful wink as I pull my shirt over my head, that’s all the invitation he needs and he closes us into his bathroom.

  “You sure you’re feeling okay, sugar?” he asks as I reach behind me and unhook my bra, letting it fall to the floor.

  I give him a smile, looking up into his turquoise eyes as I watch his nostrils flare when he takes in my breasts. “I’m feeling much better, thank you,” I reply, stepping out of my sparkly moccasins and pulling off my leggings.

  When he glances down then, I can’t help but giggle at the look of relief on his face when he sees I’m wearing a pretty thong instead of a pair of surgery panties I might’ve rescued out of the trashcan.

  I take his T-shirt over his head, him helping to get it all the way off, since he’s so tall and I can’t reach. And then I unbutton his jeans and unzip the fly, hooking my fingers into his boxer briefs and pulling it all down at once, where he steps out of them apparently having already taken his shoes off before we came into the bathroom.

  When he leans down to kiss me, I smack my open palm over my mouth, shaking my head. As he rears back, giving me a questioning look, I tell him, “There is no way in hell you’re kissing me until I brush all the nastiness out of my mouth.”

  He nods begrudgingly, and so I hook my thumbs into my thong and pull them down my legs, spinning around and tossing them at him over my shoulder as I step into the shower that’s big enough for ten people. I had every intention of turning the water on and getting it all set for us, but I can’t quite figure out how. I look around for a knob, a faucet of some sort, but there’s not one to be found.

  Instead, I hear him chuckling still outside the shower door, and I glance through the glass to see him lift his hand to press buttons on a touchscreen. I have just enough time to glance up at where he points at a place above me with a wink before the water cascades down from the ceiling, as the biggest showerhead I’ve ever seen turns on. It has to be a good two feet wide by three feet long, taking up most of the ceiling space inside the stall, and the water comes out as if it’s a rain shower. There’s just enough space around the perimeter for you to stand in order to be able to lather up, and it has to be the most relaxing shower I’ve ever been in, in my life.

  “Oh my God, I could seriously live in this thing,” I tell him as he finally steps in after watching me, seeming mesmerized, while I enjoyed the soothing hotness of the water.

  “You could if you wanted to, sugar,” he replies. “Just say the word and I’ll move your sexy little ass out here at the drop of a hat.”

  My breath doesn’t even catch when he says things like this anymore, because he’s so often said them over the past month. It no longer shocks me when he talks about the future as if he already knows it’s going to happen.

  Most of the time, I choose to change the subject, like I do now. “We need to hurry. We still need to pick up Emmy and Dean when they get to the airport.”

  “You know, they have drivers for that, or they can call an Uber, and then we could spend the next few hours making up for lost time,” he teases, kissing the back of my shoulder, and it immediately sends a shiver down my breasts, making my nipples hard.

  I look up at him over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “You do realize that I’ve seen you since the last time I saw my best friend, right? There’s no way in hell I’m letting her get an Uber when I can tackle her at the airport… like I had fully planned on doing to you before I puked my brains out in front of God knows how many famous people.” And then it dawns on me, and a worried look comes across my face. “Oh, God, famous people. That means there were probably a shitload of incognito paparazzi there, huh? Which means the next time I look at my Instagram, there’s going to be eighteen thousand tags of me barfing in a trashcan with my hot boyfriend holding my hair back. That’s sooo attractive.”

  He wraps his arms tightly around me, and it instantly calms me down. “Well, if there’s no time for hanky-panky, then I guess let’s hurry up the shower, so I have time to feed you before we get your bestie.”

  My stomach rolls at the thought, but I know I should probably put something in it, because it is definitely empty. Even though we don’t end up having sex in the shower—we’ll just have to christen it later—it’s still a sensual experience allowing Curtis to take his time lathering up every inch of my body. And when his huge, masculine hands take hold of my head, massaging shampoo into my scalp with his long, skillful fingers, it’s almost as satisfying as an orgasm anyway. So after he rinses me off and I treat him to the same pampering, we get out of that heavenly stall feeling sated.

  After getting dressed, leaving my hair up in a towel, we go downstairs and I finally get to see his kitchen. I’ve been looking forward to it, because I imagine the personal kitchen of a chef would be astounding. And I wasn’t wrong. Everything is white stone and stainless-steel appliances. The backsplash takes my breath away, and for a moment, I wonder if it was already there over a month ago.

  Of course it was. There’s no way he would have remodeled anything about his precious kitchen just for me.

  “If you’re wondering if I already had the white subway tile backsplash, the answer is yes. That’s why I kind of chuckled when we first met and you said you love Joanna Gaines. I thought it was ironic that the one thing in my house decorated in the farmhouse style you love was the kitchen, since when I met you, you were in the frozen pizza aisle and don’t know a thing about cooking.”

  “Didn’t know a thing about cooking,” I emphasize. “I can now make almost ten different recipes thanks to a certain chef giving me private lessons over the phone.”

  He smiles. “True story, sugar. Now, what do you feel like eating?”

  I grimace. “Nothing really, but if you’re going to make me, then something starchy. Super-duper starchy. Like super potatoey starchy.”

  “I take it you want some carbs?”

  I gave him a cheesy grin and nod.

  “All right, I’ll allow it, but there’s got to be some type of protein in your starchy potatoey starch. You think you could handle some cheese… maybe some bacon in a baked potato?” he asks, coming closer to trace the line of my cheekbone with the gentle tips of his fingers.

  The look in his eyes takes my breath away and all the words right out of my head. Have I ever seen love so openly naked in someone’s eyes before? Never. Has anyone shown me such selfless care before? Only Emmy, her grandma, and my parents.

  God, I love him, I think, giving a dreamy sigh inside my head as I soak up the feeling of finally being in his arms once again.

  His eyebrows shoot upward, nearly hitting his hairline, and only when his eyes twinkle and the corners of his mouth lift a little do I realize—

  “I sure hope the ‘him’ you’re referring to is me, sugar. And in that case, him loves her too,” he says softly, and it confirms what I suspected. I hadn’t thought those words to myself. He made me so dumb they had come out of my mouth without me meaning for them to.<
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  I swallow thickly and nod, my cheeks heating furiously. “Yeah. Him is you. That… that wasn’t supposed to be my outside voice. You just make me stupid.”

  “You are a lot of things, sugar, but stupid doesn’t come even close to being one of them,” he tells me, and I melt a little more against him. “But now that it’s out in the open, can we try that again, properly this time?” At my nod, he smiles as he leans down, his lips a whisper away from mine, and I can feel his breath as he says, “I love you, Erin.”

  The words and use of my real name make me shiver against him, and my eyes tear up as I reply something I never thought I’d get to say to another man for the rest of my life. “I love you too.”

  “I know,” he sing-songs, giving me a cocky grin, and I’m grateful for his playfulness. He kisses me thoroughly then, and right when I’m just about to point out that yes, Emmy could get an Uber, he pulls away, giving me a swat on the ass and making me yelp before rounding the giant island in the center of his kitchen. He grabs a huge russet potato out of a basket on the counter, and I pull out one of the stools under the lip of the island to sit and watch his handiwork.

  “For time’s sake, I’m going to do it in the microwave,” he says absently, almost like it’s a habit from speaking all the steps while he’s filming his show. All I can do is stare, watching his masculine grace as he fixes me lunch, the look of concentration on his face making my heart swell, knowing he’s making it for me with such care, even if it’s just a baked potato.

  When he slides it across the white stone countertop, my jaw drops at the starchy masterpiece, and as the scent wafts up my nose, I feel hungry for the first time. He pulls out a drawer and hands me a fork then wipes his hands on the white towel slung over his shoulder.

  I groan at the first bite. This isn’t some cheap steakhouse stuffed potato. I watched him grate this cheese, watched him whip up this fresh sour cream as the potato cooked in the microwave, and the butter came out of an unmarked container, hinting it wasn’t something he just bought from the grocery store. These bits of bacon didn’t come out of a package or a shaker. I got to witness his awesome knife skills again, like that day in my kitchen, as he diced a couple slices he pulled out of a block wrapped in white butcher paper.

  “This is the best starchy potatoey starch I’ve ever eaten in my life,” I mumble around a mouthful, breathing in and out through my mouth to try to cool it off as I attempt to chew it. So unladylike, but goddamn. It’s fucking good and I don’t want to wait.

  He grins, coming around the island to kiss me on the top of my head. “Lemme taste.”

  I narrow my eyes up at him, shaking my head. “My carbs,” I growl.

  He widens his eyes. “Woman, gimme a taste, or I will take it myself.”

  I sit up straight, shifting in my seat haughtily. “Oh yeah, and how will you do that?” I challenge.

  He leans over me, his towering height allowing him to look down on me even with me sitting on his bar stool. “Before you can even blink, I’ll have you across my knees and I’ll spank that tight little ass then use your back as my dining table.”

  My eyes widen at that. “Kinky. I read an erotic novel like that once.” I dip my fork into the potato, making sure to get a little bit of each topping into the one bite before lifting the utensil to his lips.

  “You like to read dirty books?” he asks before opening his mouth, using his perfect lips to slide the food off and onto his tongue.

  I snort. “Is there a woman out there who doesn’t? Have you ever read one? Hotter than watching porn, because you can imagine for yourself what the people look like, even putting yourself in their place if you want.”

  His eyes twinkle as he chews and watches me take a bite. “Men are more visual creatures, aren’t they, Ms. Psychologist?”

  I shrug. “This is true.”

  “Maybe they’ll make it into a movie and then we can both enjoy…?” he prompts, and he must mean the title of the book.

  “Oh goodness. I don’t remember the title, because the author, Red Phoenix, has like eighty-four thousand hot-as-hell stories, but yeah. If they made them into a movie or series, I. Am. Here. For. It.” I emphasize each word with a tap of my finger to the end of his nose.

  “So you like the potato? I think it needs salt,” he adds, reaching to the center of the island to grab the grinder full of pink salt crystals.

  I use both my hands to make a shield over the potato, shaking my head. “While it’s adorable that my big, strong, handsome man has pink salt—”

  “It’s Himalayan,” he grumps.

  “—this is perfect the way it is. The salt from the bacon is just enough. I needed something a little bland to settle my tum-tum. I think adding anything else would send it into the ‘too flavorful’ category,” I finish.

  He sniffs out a short chuckle. “Yes, let’s settle that ‘tum-tum.’ Because I have plans for it later.”

  I screw up my face. “Do I take that as you wanting to rearrange my guts with your dick, or are you cooking something special for me?”

  He barks out a laugh. “Both.” He smacks a kiss to my lips before circling the island once more to clean up the little mess he made while making my potato.

  Chapter 22

  Curtis

  I DON’T THINK I’ve ever witnessed pure joy with my own two eyes until I got to watch the moment Erin spotted Emmy coming around the corner at baggage claim at the airport. Even their ear-drum-bursting squeal as they collided in the exact same spot I caught Erin before she nearly collapsed earlier today couldn’t lessen the delight I felt inside my chest getting to see the love of my life so completely happy. It’s the same reaction I had hoped for when she spotted me when I picked her up, and I’m one hundred percent positive it would’ve been had she not felt so awful.

  I swear I lost at least four years off my life when I saw her knees give out, and thank God for my long legs and the adrenaline rush that shot through my veins, because I was able to catch her just before she hit the floor. If that’s her normal reaction to flying, we’re going to have to figure out a regimen of motion sickness meds and breathing techniques or something. Because I will never go another month without seeing her again. Hell, it’ll be a miracle if I allow a week between visits. Especially now. Now that she’s admitted not only to herself but out loud to me as well that she loves me.

  After giving Dean a bro hug, pulling each other in and slapping each other on the back, we stand back with stupid grins on our faces as we watch the girls roll around on the floor, refusing to end their hug and laughter. Neither of us gives a shit as people look at our group weirdly, and I give someone a goofy face and a peace sign when I see them whip out their phone for either a video or photo. I’m sure my woman won’t mind that someone caught this moment on camera. In fact…

  I take out my own cell, and turn on the video recorder, using the button near the bottom of the screen to take some snapshots while it’s still filming. When the girls finally sprawl on their backs, trying to catch their breaths as they look at each other, they let out a fit of giggles once more.

  I feel honored to get to witness such a wholesome moment, two of the closest friends reconnecting after months apart. It makes me want to speed up the process of Erin and me living together even more. I see Dean and Emmy several times a month because of our work at the same network, which means Erin could see her favorite girl way more often than she does now. I just don’t know how she’d feel about giving up her practice in New Orleans, since there’s no way she could take off as much as she’d need to in order to make all that happen.

  And if she expresses she doesn’t want to leave her job, then what?

  That’s easy. I’ll do whatever it takes to be with her, not just officially, but physically. It would be a shitload of travelling on my part, but I would make my home base in NOLA in a heartbeat for her. I’d do anything for her.

  When Dean and I are finally able to pull the girls up from the floor and grab their luggage
from the conveyer belt, we all pile into my truck, the two women choosing to sit in the back seat together. The only thing that keeps me from huffing over my girl not sitting next to me is the fact that she’s in the seat behind me, so every time I glance into the rearview mirror, all I see is her gorgeous smile. She catches my stare every few miles and sticks out her tongue, her little nose wrinkling the way I remember it doing the first night we spent together, reminding me exactly what made me fall in love with her.

  We’ve almost made it home, and I’m deep in conversation with Dean about the next location their going to be filming No Trespassing, when from the back seat I hear, “You okay, Rin?” and my eyes immediately dart to the rearview mirror. Erin’s face has gone pale like it had when I picked her up today, and I’ve already turned my blinker on before she can ask me to pull over.

  We’re in my neighborhood, so it’s nothing to jump out my driver seat at the same time her door opens, and I reach in and scoop her up, carrying her swiftly to the grass on the passenger side of my truck. I set her down on her feet and she spins away from me, bending over just as I wrap my arm around the front of her waist. I hold her up, taking her weight as she throws up, the most pitiful whimper coming out of my girl and breaking my heart.

  “I’m… sorry,” she manages to get out between heaves, and I rub her back, shushing her worry.

  “Don’t apologize, baby. I’ve got you,” I soothe, just as Emmy comes up beside me to pull her hair back from her face.

  “It’s okay, Rin. Let it out,” she tells her, and her confused eyes meet mine.

  “Second time today,” I reply to her unspoken question, and she nods, her brows furrowed.

  As Erin catches her breath, I pick her up, and Dean hops out of the front passenger seat so I can set her there. “Maybe she’s car-sick. I know some people can’t ride in the back seat without getting nauseous,” he suggests.