Page 42 of Smooth Sailing

“Suzette hasn’t come out yet, but I’ll go in and get her so I can introduce you before Hugger and I leave. I just have to get the Crock-pot sorted, and I’ll do that.”

“Got nowhere else to be but here, Diana,” he assured.

I smiled at him, “Make yourself at home, with everything. Food, drink, TV streaming, whatever.”

“Thanks, darlin’.”

I returned to the kitchen and got a carton of broth.

I was pouring it over the chicken when Hugger asked, “What are you doing?”

“Setting up dinner.”

“Now?”

I looked up at him. “It’s a slow cooker.”

He glanced inside the Crock-pot then back to me. “What’s for dinner?”

“Shredded chicken tacos.”

His head twitched to the side. “We had tacos last night.”

“And we’re having them again tonight. And if you have an issue with that, suck it up, because we’ll probably have them tomorrow night too.”

“Tacos are tacos. You can never say no to a taco,” he spoke the gods’ honest truth. Then he veered off the righteous path. “Unless you have to eat them every night.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a whole repertoire of tacos. You’ve had the beer-battered cod. Tonight, shredded chicken. Then there’s shredded beef. And ground beef. And shrimp. And grilled fish. Also grilled chicken. And then there’s fajita tacos. And steak. And?—”

He put a palm up in front of my face and commanded, “Stop.”

Not a fan of that palm (though definitely a fan of his big, long-fingered hand—God, someone kill me), I wrinkled my nose at him.

He stared at my nose a good deal like he’d stared at my mouth last night, and his hand went away.

I ignored how much I liked the expression on his face and retorted, “Don’t be dissing my tacos.”

“So you’re sayin’ you’re a taco aficionado too.”

“I’m an aficionado of a lot, and all of it revolves around food.”

His eyes dropped to the vicinity of my hips and he mumbled, “Approved.”

My clit pulsed.

Hugger put his bowl to his mouth and drank the milk from it.

And God help me, my clit pulsed at that too.

Big Petey cleared his throat.

I turned to see biker grandpa had turned into Biker Grandpa! because he was grinning hugely at Hugger and me, his eyes were dancing, and the very air around him sparkled with glee.

“I love tacos,” he announced.

“Well, good, because there’ll be plenty,” I replied.

On that, Big Petey wandered to the couch. I got on with setting up the Crock-pot. And Hugger, to my shock, rinsed his bowl, spoon and coffee mug and put them in the dishwasher.

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