Page 51 of Fumbled Beginning

“Yes.”

“Did he punch you?”

“No.”

“Did she put out yet?”

Click.

I put my phone on silent when it started ringing again.

The tears streaming down Rylee’s cheeks indicated she heard the entire conversation. I, however, was not amused.

I leaned my hip against the counter and instructed her to turn the burner off. “He’s not that funny.”

“Oh, come on.” She wiped her face and moved toward me. I widened my stance so she could stand in between my legs. “Cut him some slack. He can’t help himself.”

One palm went to the back of her neck. “Why are you defending the little shithead? Not to mention he gossips like a third grader. Everyone is going to be talking about us.”

“Is that a bad thing?” She licked her lips in invitation, and I wasn’t going to deny her.

“Nope, especially since I can do this whenever I want now.” I yanked her to my chest and captured her mouth with mine. It started soft but quickly deepened. I’ve kissed my fair share of women, but there was something about the feel of her in my arms that felt like the most perfect thing in my life.

Before we had another repeat in my kitchen, like last weekend, I grabbed her arms and pulled back. We were both breathing pretty heavily, neither one of us was ready for the kiss to be over.

She tilted her head to the side. “Why did you stop?”

My chest rose and fell as I took a step back. “Because I put a lot of effort into cooking this meal. It’s my way of impressing you.”

“You don’t need to impress me with your culinary skills.” She angled her head over to the stove. “Although, maybe someday you’ll let me return the favor.”

I arched an eyebrow. “What kind of favor?”

She swatted my shoulder. “Not that kind, you pervert. The cooking kind. I want to try to cook you dinner next time.”

“Not in my kitchen, you’re not.”

She looked genuinely offended. “You don’t trust me?”

“If you want to cook, you can experiment in your own kitchen.”

She put her hands on her hips. “If you are so worried about your precious little Williams and Sonoma cookware, I could always experiment in someone else’s kitchen.”

She squealed when I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder. I placed her in the chair and pointed. “Stay right there and stop being a pain in my ass.”

She picked up her phone and started scrolling through social media. “Looks like my plan to get out of cooking worked.” She smirked.

* * *

“That was amazing.” Rylee patted her stomach while I snuck a piece of chicken behind my back for Oakley. She had a stupid rule about not giving him any table food, but I had a feeling the dog got scraps when she wasn’t looking. He was way too good about mooching for a dog who was supposed to be on a special diet.

“See.” I smiled and stretched my legs out. “And it was easy, right?”

“Easier than scrubbing the baking sheet.” She sighed. “I owe you a new pan.”

I don’t think I laughed as much as I did while trying to teach Rylee how to cook. She wasn’t lying when she said she was terrible at it. She burnt the garlic bread because instead of setting the oven to bake, she accidentally set it to broil. Poor Oakley probably lost an eardrum when the smoke detector went off. It took us almost an hour to get him out from underneath the table. His first time sleeping over, and he was traumatized.

“It’s fine, but if you would have kept the apron on like I told you to, you wouldn’t have stains all over your shirt.” I pointed to her chest.

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