Page 59 of Love on the Waiver Wire

“Of course,” I say, starting to cut up everything I need.

She settles, slouching against the counter.

“How has your week been?”

I shrug, watching her as I chop a pepper. “It was okay. We’ve been working on a lot going into this next week. We think we really have the pieces we’ve needed to make a Superbowl run. It’s too early, of course, but we’re on our way. They’ve been more intense about studying tapes and making sure we’re ready.”

“Tennessee is a good team, too. You guys ready for it?”

“I think so. Coaches seem to think so too.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

She shifts in her seat, her eyes following the movements of my knife before drifting up over my chest and arms. I smile, trying to get a peek at her while also not chopping my finger off.

“How do you do that?” she murmurs, watching my hands.

“With a lot of practice.” I’ve taken a lot of knife skill classes in the past couple of years after I accidentally chopped the tip of my finger off when I was a teenager. I said that as soon as I could pay for them, I’d learn how to cook for real. Not just random recipes I thought of off the top of my head or found online.

Not that there’s anything bad about those. I still make my own recipes sometimes.

But there’s something about knowing how to cook and how to do it confidently, which includes how to use a knife.

I grab the onion I brought from the counter, placing it on the cutting board before cutting it in half, peeling the outside layer off. From there, I curl my fingers as I hold onto the top, bringing the knife down in even, fast strokes.

Isla shifts again, taking a slow sip of wine before her eyes drift over my arms, making their way to my face.

“You okay?” I ask, smirking.

“I just never considered that to be hot before. But it is.”

Her cheeks are pink, her eyes wide and innocent. “What’s hot about it pretty girl?”

The name just flusters her more as she leans in to watch even closer. “I’m not sure. Just something about a man being able to control a knife like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She takes a strand of her hair, wrapping it around her index finger watching me. “I don’t know, just sets me on fire a little bit.”

My smirk morphs into a grin, watching her get drunk off of wine while I cook for her. I want to do this for the rest of her life.

“It’s the hands,” she says finally, watching as I work on the other half. “The way you control the knife and the onion. It’s precision. Skill. You, Mr. Crosby, have excellent hands.”

It’s my turn to blush, but I can’t deny that watching her get turned on by me doing something I love doesn’t do something to me, too.

“Hands are a weird thing to be attracted to, aren’t they?”

“I mean they aren’t the only thing I’m attracted to,” her voice is breathy now, taking everything in.

“What else then?” I push.

“I think your butt is pretty great if I do say so myself. And your face isn’t too bad either. And your thighs, I’m a bit of a thigh girl.”

She presses her chest into the counter, leaning in more as she becomes visibly more and more flustered, her teeth peeking out to bite her lower lip as she looks up at me from under her lashes.

And I want to just take her right here.

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