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Charm laughed beside me, but her attention lingered on Temple for another second.
Most people wouldn’t have caught the change. I did. Fifteen months ago, seeing a beautiful blonde look in my direction would’ve sent Charm into her head and if she knew I fucked her once it would be worse. She would’ve measured Temple’s body against hers, questioned whether I preferred blondes, then waited for me to pull her from an argument I never knew we were having.
This Charm didn’t retreat. Instead, her hand slid into mine. Not tentative. Not hidden between our bodies. She laced our fingers together in the center of the doorway where Temple, Lyric, our friends, and every arriving family member could see exactly who she intended to leave with.
Then she looked up at me. “Come on, papi. Let’s cook.”
The possessive confidence in her voice went straight to my dick. “Your campaign just became obvious.”
“I was never being subtle.”
I followed her to our workstation because watching Charm attempt to fight dirty had become the most entertaining part of my weekend.
The instruction card assigned us carne asada tacos with handmade corn tortillas, charred vegetables, pico de gallo, and one original topping. Charm immediately rearranged every ingredient into categories while I tied the pastel purple apron around my waist.
She looked me over. “That apron improves the shirt.”
“Fire would improve the shirt.”
“I like you in green.”
“You would like me more out of it.”
“I like you in and out of everything.”
“You’re trouble.”
“You used to like that.”
“That kind of trouble never got me anywhere.”
Silence settled over us after that.
I moved behind her to reach the knives. My hand settled at her waist automatically, shifting her six inches away from the cutting board. There had been enough room to pass without touching her but neither of us acknowledged it.
Charm started the tortilla dough while I sliced the meat. We fell into the same rhythm we used to find in my apartment—her moving through whatever space I occupied as if she belonged there, me anticipating where she would be before she arrived.
She reached behind herself for the salt and I placed it in her hand without looking.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She turned toward the sink as I moved behind her again. My palm found her waist, then drifted lower until my fingers curved over the top of her ass.
Charm paused.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Passing through.”
“There’s three feet of room behind me.”
“I like this route.”
My hand remained on her as I reached past her for a bowl. The white shorts she’d used as a weapon all morning left most of her legs bare, and every time she bent over the counter, they found a new way to piss me off.
“You’re distracting the chef,” she said.
