Page 73 of Grumpy Puck

“He wants to know if the various fillings forvarenikiinclude cheese,” I say with a grin.

“Actually, yes,” Michael says.“One of the sweet varieties is filled with farmers’ cheese and sugar.I’m not sure if a rat would like them.”

I glance at Wolfgang, whose eyes are wide.

Meine Liebe, so long as it’s filled with some type of cheese, I’d eat anything, even a bullet.

“This is my favorite part.”Michael grabs a rolling pin, sprinkles flour over the table, and starts rolling the dough, his naked, hairy, muscular forearms driving me insane in the process.

“Here.”He hands me a glass and takes one for himself.“Stamp circles with me.”He shows me how, and I help while my heart hammers in my chest for no obvious reason.

“Now take the mushrooms and stick them in the center of each circle,” he says, demonstrating.

A part of me realizes that his words and actions are not sensual, but the rest of me reacts as though the word “mushroom” were a euphemism for his cock and “center” for my pussy.

“Yes,” he says approvingly when I penetrate the dough with the fungi.“Just like that.”

Shit.I never knew cooking could make you so ravenous… for a dick.But here we are.

“Now we make half-moons,” Michael says, cutting through my horny haze.He folds one of the circles we made, then pushes the edges together with his fingers.And is it just me, or do said edges look suspiciously like pussy lips?

Anyway, I somehow glue together a dozen dumplings without climbing Michael like a tree.

He then boils water, tosses in the dumplings, and waits until they float to the top, which means they are done.

“Now we eat them with sour cream.”He fills two plates and hands one to me, along with a fork.

When I bite a piece of the dumpling, the savory flavor explodes in my mouth, making me moan in pleasure.

“Wow,” I say after I swallow.“That was the best thing I’ve had in my mouth in a long time.”

Michael arches an eyebrow, and I blush as I realize how dirty my words sounded.

“So, you’re not a fan of Florida,” I say, desperate to change the subject.“What else do you dislike?”

He cocks his head.“How much time do we have?”

“The list isthatlong?”

He scratches his head.“I don’t like it when people are being stupid.I’m not a fan of when someone shows me pictures from their vacation.I hate it when?—”

As promised, the list continues for a while, and it makes me feel more and more anxious about the prospect of Michael meeting my family.I mean, “being stupid” is open to interpretation, but I’m sure someone—probably my older brother—will fit whatever definition Michael has.Someone might also?—

“Oh, and the last one,” Michael says.“I want to murder anyone who clips their nails on the subway.”

“Are you sure that’s all?”I ask sarcastically.

“Well, I guess toenails too,” he says with a straight face.

I roll my eyes.“Did that really happen?”

He nods.“Brooklyn.The R-line.A woman clipped her toenails and then stunk up the subway car with nail polish.”

Wow.“Okay, we may be in agreement on that one.I wouldn’t like it either.”And I guess it’s the silver lining to the fact that we don’t have subways here in Florida.

“It was disgusting.”Now that his plate is clean, Michael puts down his fork.“And I’m sorry I brought it up at the table.”

“Oh, my appetite is unaffected.”For food and for a certain someone, despite how long his “dislikes” list is.

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