Page 35 of Knockin' Boats
Helena set down her seven-inch chef’s knife and headed toward me. Judging by the way she’d been gliding through the pile of onions, she had superb knife skills. I had no illusions I’d be so fast, but I’d cooked enough that I’d bought my own knife set and was comfortable with them.
She led me to a section of stainless steel counter. Beneath it, doors opened to a refrigerated cooling space, where I could store the food. I would primarily be prepping ingredients for the first day, though there were a few items that I could make ahead that would keep for longer.
In these first few days, I wanted to do as much prep as possible since I wasn’t yet used to working with the limited equipment I’d have on a boat.
Vera had shown me the freezer and pantry on an earlier visit, so after I made a list of everything I’d need to prep my menu, I got busy pulling ingredients. I had a chipotle sauce to make, chicken to thaw out, cook, and shred, and cabbage, onion, carrot, and cilantro to chop, shred, or mince for a slaw topping.
And that was just one menu item.
I also planned to prep a fresh mango salsa for the tacos, brisket and catfish for sliders—which would also be topped with the same slaw and a seared slice of pineapple—lobster-and-mac bites, cornbread muffins, sweet potatoes with a special aioli sauce, and a few other basic side items like ham-and-cheese pinwheels, chicken salad, antipasto bites, and popsicles made with fresh fruit.
Some items could be made entirely ahead to be reheated or crisped up in the frier, and some had to be prepared fresh.
But I was just one guy, and I had to prepare enough to serve dozens of people.
So I rolled out my knife set and started chopping.
And chopping.
And chopping some more.
Between this and fully stocking the boat with supplies, it was going to be a very long day.
But at least there was no time to think about how much I’d fucked up with Sawyer.
CHAPTER 9
Sawyer
Sunlight found its way through the tiny gap in my curtains, shining across my face. I woke reluctantly, a pleasant dream tickling the edges of my mind. I shifted and my hard-on brushed against the sheets.
I reached down and clasped myself to relieve the pressure, sighing. It had been too damn long since I’d hooked up with anyone.
An image rose suddenly in my mind.
Ash’s mouth clinging to mine, his heat swamping me.
My cock gave a throb, and I jerked my hand away with a gasp.
Oh, fuck. Ash. The kiss.
I’d forgotten, but now the details returned to me in vivid fucking detail. My cock ached, still hard, but no way in hell was I stroking off with Ash in my head. With a huff of annoyance, I threw off the blankets and got up to take a cold shower.
When I got out, I was shivering but soft, so mission accomplished. If only banishing the memory of that kiss was as easy. Thoughts continued to bubble up the whole time I dried and dressed.
I picked up hair product to tame my messy curls, but what the fuck was I doing? I was headed to work, not a date.
I hadn’t had one of those in months. Apparently I had emotional availability issues. The few women I’d dated since high school didn’t stick for long. I wasn’t the kind of guy who jumped into relationships easily, so I usually went months between girlfriends. Which was fine.
I’d gotten pretty used to flying solo—in bed or out of it.
Which was why I was annoyed thoughts of Ash had intruded this morning. My hand was about all the action I got, and he’d ruined it.
I intentionally messed up my curls, then slapped a cap on overtop. There. Now I looked like me. I didn’t need to impress anyone. Especially not fucking Ash. Maybe he went out of his way to dress nice, to fucking style that golden hair of his and douse himself in cologne, but I didn’t have anything to prove.
Unlike Ash. He’d only kissed me to prove a point, right?
My friends hadn’t seemed so sure, but they didn’t know him like I did. They hadn’t seen the way he’d loved to rile me up these past few years.
