Page 53 of Butter My Biscuit

“You sure? You basically just eye-fucked me.” I meet her gaze.

She gasps. “No, I didn’t.Thiswould be eye-fucking you.”

Grace takes a step back and does the same thing, but instead of stopping on my lips, her gaze trails down my body as she nibbles on her lower lip.

“Okay, that’s enough. I feel like you undressed me.”

She snorts, pouring us two glasses. “What, you don’t imagine your best friend naked twenty-four/seven?”

“And comments like that are exactly why your boyfriends don’t like me being around.” I search around in the lower cabinets for a cheese grater.

“You searchin’ for this thing?” She lifts it in the air, and the silver coating catches a glint of the overhead light.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“The blocks of cheese kinda gave it away. I didn’t realize you were going all out. I’d have at least dressed up for you.”

“You didn’t?” I say, my eyes sliding up her body.

I think she blushes as I fill the largest pot she has with water, then place it on the stove. We work around the kitchen like we can predict the other’s move as we drink our wine.

She preheats the oven as I season the meat. When the oven beeps, I slide the pan of chicken in and set a timer.

“Wait, you’re making homemade sauce?” She looks at the heavy cream, cheese blocks, and garlic.

“Correction:weare making homemade sauce.”

“The last time, I burned the shit out of it, and it looked like gravy.” She bursts into laughter.

“Thankfully, I’m here to make sure that won’t happen.”

She smiles. “Maybe you’re the lucky charm then.”

“Also, the only reason it looked like liquid shit is because you got distracted and forgot to stir,” I remind her, grabbing the cutting board and a knife. “Come here. We’ll do it together.”

Grace moves beside me, and she’s standing so close that I can feel the warmth of her body against mine.

I look over at her. “Let’s mince the garlic, and then we’ll work on shredding the cheese.”

“The pre-shredded would’ve saved us so much time.”

“It’s not as good if you rush it though. You’ve got to give it care. Let it simmer. Bring it to a boil, then serve. It’s kinda like a relationship in a way.”

She nods. “You’re right. My sauce is shit, and so is my dating life.”

“You can always take cooking lessons,” I tell her. “Not all is lost.”

She laughs and sits on the counter top as I continue prepping. “I’m gonna make sure whoever I marry is good in the kitchen. Then, I don’t have to worry about it.”

“Perfect partner? And go. I’m keeping my eye out.”

She looks up at the ceiling like she’s pondering the question, but she already knows what she wants in her dream partner. At least I do.

“Hmm. He has to be tall. Like, way taller than me. Hardworking. Not afraid to get his hands dirty. Funny. Outgoing. Sexy. Must be able to cook. Has to love his family. And strong. I need a man who can carry me if Drunkie comes out to play. Also, he has to be committed to me and me only. Oh, and if we’re talking about my wish list? He needs to be able to move me with his words, you know? Be able to say stuff that takes my breath away. Snuggling every night is a requirement.”

I smirk, knowing I can check every single one of those boxes. I think she knows it too.

She picks up her glass of wine and sips. “Think it’s doable?”

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