Page 32 of Stroked by (Stroked)
While he grabs the ingredients for the pasta salad, I watch his steady movements, his confidence in the kitchen, and his familiarity with his surroundings. He doesn’t seem like someone trying to act like they cook; he knows what he’s doing, and that is downright sexy. Any man who can cook, can easily win a piece of my heart.
“My mom and I came up with this recipe for pasta salad back when I was in high school. I was eating over four thousand calories a day to keep up with my training regimen, and this healthy version of pasta salad was a lifesaver. I took a bowl of it to school with me every day as a mid-afternoon snack.”
“Over four thousand calories?” I ask, finding my voice. “That is an insane amount of calories.”
“I eat about thirty-five hundred now. It’s one of the positives of being a swimmer; you get to eat a lot. But now that I’m older, I don’t necessarily sit down and eat a giant burger, I try to find calories in a healthier way. My pasta salad helps with that.”
“But aren’t you grilling up burgers for lunch?” I tease.
“I am, smart-ass.” He laughs. “Instead of buns, we’re eating them on lettuce wraps.”
“Appetizing,” I say sarcastically. I am a healthy eater, but I love my bread, I don’t appreciate people taking it away, especially when burgers are mentioned.
“You’ll live. Now wash your hands while I cut the peppers. I don’t know where those hands have been and I don’t want them all over my food.”
“I’m not disgusting,” I say, going to the sink to wash up.
The soap next to the sink is from Bed Bath & Beyond, and it smells like heaven. It’s funny to me that he has a fancy hand-wash soap. What man stocks such a thing in his house?
“Why are you giggling to yourself over there?”
I didn’t realize I was giggling. Busted. “Your soap. I just didn’t expect a bad boy like you to have black-cherry-apple-scented hand wash.”
“My mom brings over a bunch whenever she’s visiting. She is constantly making sure I’m prepared to be a good hostess when I have people over, which is pretty much never.”
“Oh, I’m one of few,” I joke.
He slides the peppers, a cutting board, and a knife in front of me. “You are.” His voice displays no humor in it. “This is my sanctuary. I don’t like a lot of people messing with it.” His breath practically tickles the hairs on the back of my neck.
Gulp.
I clear my throat. “I can understand that. You must get hounded a lot when you’re in the public eye. I’m surprised no one approached you at the beach. Your tattoo is kind of a giveaway.”
He looks down at it and then scans my body. “I could say the same about you. What’s the story behind your ink?”
The peppers are left in front of me while he grabs a box of veggie pasta from the shelf and starts boiling a huge pot of water. He covers it with a lid and then turns to me, waiting for my answer, hands resting behind him against the counter. His chest expands with his breath and his abs ripple with each movement. It would be no hardship having to stare at him all day.
“So, are you going to tell me?” he prods.
Not caring about chopping vegetables, I say, “Ever hear a phrase or saying that touches your heart to the point that you want it branded on your soul?”
“I have,” he answers, curiosity in his eyes.
“I grew up on an Indian Reservation. My parents weren’t too keen on me exploring outside of the general store they own. I was sheltered, big time. I didn’t really know life outside of going to school and stocking shelves. My grandpa was my only outlet. Every Friday night he would take me to the movies, and I would sit there, a big tub of popcorn on my lap and a huge smile on my face. The movies were my escape, very much like swimming is yours. I fell in love with the production, the storylines, the creation of putting it altogether. I wanted to be a part of making dreams become a reality. I studied film, went to school for it and got a master’s degree in production. Movies have been a part of me ever since I can remember; they helped me escape a humdrum life and gave me a dream to live for. Along the way, I collected phrases, musings from movies that touched me in a way I can’t explain. Those sayings were branded in my soul, so I branded them on my body as well.”
He steps closer and examines my tattoos. Gently, his finger pulls down my cover-up, exposing the tattoo that runs across my collarbone. “You had me at hello.” His grin peeks past his lips, lips I wish would press against my own, just for a small taste. “Jerry McGuire, great movie.”
“The first movie I ever saw with a sex scene.” I laugh. “But one of the best romantic lines ever in a movie.”
He chuckles. “Hell of a good sex scene, you’re lucky it was your first.” He tilts his head so he reads the tattoo along the length of my neck. “I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it.” He pulls back and studies me, unsure of where the quote is from.
“Titanic,” I answer. “Leonardo DiCaprio will forever be a part of me. I would never let go.” I laugh, and he joins in with me.
He then lifts my arm to see the tattoo on my left wrist. It’s small, but legible. “Anything can happen, if you let it.”
“Mary Poppins,” I say before he can guess.
“A wise woman.” He smiles, looking at my lips as if he wants to kiss me. The tension between us grows as he continues to examine my tattoos. With every turn of my body, I feel his heat, filling my space, suffocating me in all the right ways.
