Page 26 of Chef
“What about this one?” I say, socked feet kicked up and resting on the coffee table.
Sage’s smaller feet are tucked under my thigh as she sits with her back against the armrest of the couch. We’ve been in this position since we moved from the dining table to the lounge, and I don’t think she even realizes where her feet currently are. And I ain’t telling her. I like it.
“Chef. Dude. When I asked for a neutral colored rug, I meant something cream, or beige. That is leopard print.”
“In my defence, Nancy, Damian’s mom, told me leopard print is a neutral.”
Sage stares at me for a long moment. “What the hell were you talking about for Nancy to teach you that?” I think back, rolling my lips between my teeth. “Chef?” Sage moves her foot from beneath my thigh, so she can poke me with her toe, before wriggling it back to where it was.
“I was admiring a leopard print velvet lined casket.”
She blinks twice at me before bursting into giggles. I huff out a laugh and keep scrolling.
“Chef, what color was the casket?”
“It was pink.” I mumble under my breath.
“It was what? I didn’t hear you.”
“It was pink, OK? It looked badass and it even had neon lights around the bottom.”
Sage leans back, laughing hard, her tits jiggling with her gasps and I have to avert my eyes, keep myself busy so I don’t pop a fucking boner and ruin the mood. But shit, it’s hard. Angry pissed off Sage is hot as hell, but fun loving, joyful, hair all mussed up Sage? Sexy as fuck.
“Ok, Ok, breathe,” she says to herself, blowing out a long breath before sitting up, a serious look on her face. “Chef, I solemnly swear, if you ever die, I will make sure you are buried in a pink, leopard lined casket with neon lights around the bottom.” Her finger crosses her heart and she blows me a little kiss.
“And I solemnly swear that I will not die. Anytime soon. Hopefully.”
“Nope, not hearing it mister. If you die I will bring you back to life to kick your ass.”
“I’m pretty certain you already did that,” I answer drily.
“I accidentally hit youone timesince I’ve been here and it was a total accident. I’m super mindful of your stitches.”
“The stitches weren't in my balls, Sage.”
“Your balls were in my way!”
I stare at her in disbelief and we burst into laughter at the same time, laughing until my stomach aches and my ribs hurt. We laugh until the sound peters out and we’re leaned back on the couch, heads on the headrest, goofy smiles on our faces as we stare at each other. This is starting to feel pretty fucking domestic and I really,reallylike it.
“I like you like this,” I say, voice still raw from laughter.
“I like this too.” She pauses for a moment. “You know, we could have always had this.”
“You think?”
“Yeah. You deserve to be happy, Chef. Even if you had shitty people in your life who told you you didn't deserve shit.”
I open my mouth, then close it. Swallowing, I measure the weight of my words. “What makes you think I had shit-”
“Chef.” Sage throws me a bored look. “I know a bit about your background. You told me, remember? Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the rest.”
“It wasn't so bad,” I reply, fiddling with my phone.
“But it wasn't so great either.” We sit quietly, the silence deafening until Sage snorts. “Hey, I didn’t do much better. I had to be smuggled out of a cult in the middle of the night. And now I’m back where I began, on a mission to kill a guy.”
My lips tip up. Sage has always known how far to push me before pulling back. I appreciate her doing so, the suffocatingfeeling of my past and all the mistakes I made lessening a little at her attempt to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, I guess if we’re measuring fucked-up-ness, you definitely win.”
