Page 37 of Smooth Sailing

I wasn’t sure I needed that lesson for the hopefully short time it took us to get Suzette to someplace that was genuinely secure.

But I filed it away anyway.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked.

This was a good question, because I needed to know quantities.

“Are you eating?” I asked in return.

“Depends on what’s for dinner.”

“Beer-battered cod tacos.”

“I’m eating.”

I smiled at him.

He tipped his head to the side. “This gonna be homemade?”

“The cod, yes. The slaw, yes. The salsa, afraid not.”

“You want help?”

“Do you cook?”

“Not if I can help it. But if a woman with a great rack, a sweet ass, killer legs and a pretty smile asks, I can wing it.”

I’d never had a man speak about my person right to my face in such direct terms, and still, I felt highly complimented.

Even so, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes, but only out of habit,” he stated. “If I was serious, you would know. But I can’t be serious because Hugger would feed me my balls for breakfast, and I like them where they are.”

My heart did a weird squeeze when he said that.

“Why would he do that?”

“Babe,” was all he said.

“Is that an answer to my question?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“I hate to inform you, it actually wasn’t.”

He winked at me, then went to the fridge, came out with a head of cabbage, and said, “I’ll let you figure it out.”

Hmm.

I didn’t press because I promised Hugger dinner would be ready when he got back, he’d been gone a good twenty minutes, so we needed to get cracking.

I learned Muzzle was good with shredding cabbage and grating carrots.

I also learned he was what I expected he was: all man.

This happened when I got the fish salted, the batter resting, and he muscled me out of the way when I unearthed the skillet and oil.

Men did the frying.

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