Page 6 of Coach Sully

A woman after my heart.

“You know…”I’m going out on a limb here. “I like to cook. If you want, I could whip up something at my place? No pressure… I’m just not seeing anything open.” I duck to get a better glance of the street up ahead. Most of the restaurants have the lights off.

She smiles and cuts her eyes at me.

I shrug.Guilty.

“Can you make omelets?” she asks.

“I make the best omelets.”

“What do you want in yours?” I ask, selecting a frying pan and setting it on the stove. She sits at one of the barstools, watching me. “I’ve got ricotta, cheddar, gouda, spinach, mushrooms, ham, bacon, onions, potatoes…”

“Hashbrowns?”

“Sure.”

“I’m a little particular about my breakfast food.”

“Let’s hear it.” I enjoy a challenge.

“I want an omelet with bacon, mushrooms, and spinach.Buthere’s how I want you to cook it… ready?”

“Lay it on me.”

“Fry the bacon in the pan first, when it’s cooked, set it aside and use the grease to cook the hashbrowns. Add gouda to the hashbrowns until it gets all nice and melty, then shove the whole thing inside the omelet with the mushrooms and spinach.”

The smile on my lips grows with each word. I love that she knows exactly what she wants and how she wants it. “Damn, Kendra. Yeah, I can do that.” In fact, I’m making one for myself. She had me at bacon grease.

She removes her bright-pink blazer and drapes it over one of the barstools next to her, then rests her elbows on the kitchen island, propping her chin on her fists to enjoy the show. What is it about grown-ass women getting excited for food that I find so appealing? Maybe I like seeing the hunger in their eyes.

Kendra appeals to a nurturing side I didn’t know I had. I want to feed her. A woman who knows exactly how she likes her omelet shouldn’t eat energy bars for dinner. That’s not to say I’ve never cared about previous partners, but the need is strongerwith her. I have the urge to protect and provide for her. It’s bizarre. Maybe it’s the age gap?

I plate our food, and she seems pleased with it as I slide it across the counter. When I take a bite, everything melts on my tongue, so I groan while pulling the fork from my lips.

“Told ya.” She laughs next to me, then takes a bite. “Perfect. God, this is my favorite comfort food.”

I nod. “Might be my favorite too.” It’s delicious, but I can already tell I will want to sleep after this, and I’m not ready to be done with her yet. We’ve been making glances at each other since we arrived. It’s been a long time since I’ve brought a woman home. The first ever to step foot in this house.

She looks around, taking in her surroundings. “You have a nice house. Is it new?”

“Yeah, I moved in last fall.”

“Did you design it?”

I nod.

“Can I have a tour?”

I bring the napkin to my mouth before answering, struggling to hide my grin. “Right now?”

I feel like we just sat down, but she wipes her hands and hops off her barstool. “Yeah.”

As soon as she turns to face the living room, my eyes drop to the brightly colored embroidery on her high-rise jeans. The flared bottoms are covered in flowers, every color of the rainbow, with stems and petals climbing her legs like ivy, up to where the denim hugs her ass as if they’re custom made. I’m jealous of pants. I want to delve into her back pockets and fill my hands with her. I’ve always been an ass man. The crop top reveals a sliver of her stomach, and I resist the temptation to touch her.

“Sure.” I clear my throat and stand.

We start at the lower level. I show her the theater, then to my “mini rink” which is essentially a twenty-by-twenty room with synthetic ice flooring.

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