Page 64 of Draft Pick
One would think they’re the result of being cold, but it’s actually quite the opposite. I like to think it’s my words, combined with the heat of my breath ghosting across her skin, that caused the physical reaction.
For such a resilient woman, she’s delicate when it comes to me.
The rise and fall of her chest almost sends me. “I’m ready.”
I lift the makeshift blindfold from her eyes, revealing our prime location. “Voilà.” I stand in front of her with my arms stretched wide. “So, what do you think? Was it what you expected?”
“Not really. It’s a kitchen,” she giggles, unable to mask her doubt. “A really big kitchen.” I cross my arms at my chest and kick back against the table across from her. “Keep going,” I mutter, likely more excited than she is.
I’m transfixed as her perpetually blue eyes scan the kitchen of my restaurant like she knows where she is, yet it hasn’t registered yet.
“Boone,” she mutters confidently in one breath after noticing the framed awards along the wall. She’s not close enough to read them, but I love that a visual of my success is what triggered her recollection. “This is the kitchen of the restaurant. Are we allowed to be back here?” Juniper panics.
I chuckle. “I’m the boss, Doc.Wecan do whatever the fuck we want.”
That may have come out dirtier than planned, and she seems to think so, too.
“Why do I keep forgetting that?” she laughs, and a rosy-pink blush creeps up her cheeks. The ripeness is a stark contrast to her all-black wardrobe and obsidian dark hair. “It’s like you live two different lives, Crew Briggs.”
“More like three. Father. Remember?” I hold up a finger. “Now, ready for the main event?”
“Ohhh, do we get to play in the kitchen, too?”
Goddamn it.We’re spiraling. Itching for this attempt atfriendshipto be the thread that unravels us. And fuck, would I ever like to unravel everything there is to know, see, taste, hear, and feel about Dr. Juniper Wilde. All the human body’s senses knitted together.
I can’t help myself, a hard-earned groan filling the space between us. A space I need to occupy more of because we’re too far apart. Friends can be close, right? I step forward, my patience wearing thin. “Don’t ask me something you don’t want an honest answer to, Juniper.”
I track the swallow at her throat as I draw near. “You know that’s not what I meant,” she whispers.
I blink. “I’m having a hard time understanding either of our intentions lately.”
“Maybe we’re doing a bad job at creating boundaries.” She’s right. The lines are blurring.
I stop mere inches away, towering over her with an undoubted amount of pride, affection, and vulnerable need. However, affection will take home the gold medal for today. “Maybe,” I mutter, my voice low. “Or maybe we both just need to stuff our faces with dessert and not think for a little while.”
A slow smile creeps up her cheeks. “Please don’t tell me you heard my stomach growling from there?”
I grin, feeling happiness bone deep for the first time in ages. “Kinda hard not to. So, what do you say? Wanna eat our body weight in the most moist, mouthwatering, and world-renowned cake together,friend?”
Taking a leisurely step forward, Juniper crowds me with a firm hand to my chest. I feel the spirited fire of her heart channel through mine like shockwaves. “Only if you promise toneversay the word moist and mouthwatering together in the same sentence ever again.”
“Promise.” And in one quick movement, I lift her onto the countertop of the industrial kitchen and head straight for the fridge.
Surely Chef Marshall left some desserts for us to enjoy.
20
JUNIPER
“I give it an eight.”
“An eight?” Crew barks, spooning the gooey tiramisu into his mouth again. “There’s no way. This is fucking delicious,” he mumbles with a mouthful.
I use my spoon to dip into the peach cobbler. The buttery crumbs fall apart as I break through the crust, molten peaches meeting the cold metal. My mouth waters just watching it. Lifting the spoon to my mouth, my eyes roll to the back of my head as I take a bite.
“Now this”—I point to the cobbler with the spoon—“is a ten out of ten. Hands down. No questions asked. I hope you have this baby patented or whatever they call it in the restaurant business because god, I could eat this cobbler every day for the rest of my life.”
“Us Georgia folks love our peaches.” Crew laughs, reaching for a bite himself.
