43. Mira

43

MIRA

The heat of Zane's body burns along my back as I try to slice the fig in front of me without chopping my fingers off.

"There's never this much touching on MasterChef ," I remark.

"That's because you haven't seen MasterChef After Dark ."

I'm about to wipe the counter in front of me clean and let Zane eat me for dinner instead…

When the instructor of the cooking class we're taking walks by our table. "Figs are another well-known aphrodisiac," she croons saucily, smirking at Zane.

I'd be jealous, but she's in her mid-seventies and I think sex with Zane would break her hips.

As soon as she moves on to the couple to our right, Zane leans over my shoulder. "If this lady doses me with Viagra, I'm suing this place for all they're worth."

I choke on a laugh. "I swear, I had no idea that an adult cooking class would be like this. I thought it was just for adults because of, like, sharp knives."

If they're going to be serving up cooking lessons with a side of foreplay, there should be a disclaimer before you checkout.

Zane shakes his head. "No, it's because of all of the raging hard-ons caused by this aphrodisiac feast."

"They really covered their bases." I count them off on my fingers. "Figs, pomegranates, scallops, red wine, dark chocolate. I'm not sure this is even going to taste good."

"I don't think the point is for it to taste good." His hand wraps around my hip, tugging my ass against him. I have to remind myself of the rules here:

Chop figs: yes.

Have sex in public: please do not.

"The point was to learn how to make something to take to the barbecue this weekend. I don't know anything about appetizers unless they come from the freezer section. And look like mini pizzas on bagels. I'm talking about Bagel Bites. God, I love Bagel Bites."

Zane rests his hands on my shoulders and slides them down my arms. Tension drains out of me under his touch, replaced with raw heat. "You don't need to bring anything. I sprang this barbecue on you last minute. And Saturday is supposed to be your day off."

"Yeah, but if you think Aiden needs me there, I want to be there for him."

I also want to be there for Zane.

When he told me about the barbecue—and the announcement Carson made, further proving what an asswipe he is—Zane was worried Aiden wouldn't do well around all of the new people. Zane didn't say he wanted me there, but I extrapolated… because my denial is so deep it's already dug itself halfway to China.

"Unless you don't want me there," I blurt suddenly. "I mean, they all know I'm your nanny now. The jig is up, right?"

Suddenly, Zane grips my waist and spins me around. I thought him standing behind me was distracting, but seeing the glint of his golden stubble and the depth of his blue eyes leaves me scrambling for reasons why I shouldn't climb this man like a ladder.

"The ‘ jig' is for CPS. As long as Fuckhead Morris thinks we're dating, that's all that matters. But—" He tucks my hair behind my ear. "—my teammates have already seen us together. They know something is going on."

What kind of "something"? I almost ask. What is this? What are we doing?

Instead, I slide away from him and push Zane up to the cutting board. "Well, then you should be the one cooking. If you won't hire a personal chef, then you need to know your way around the kitchen once I'm gone."

Something unreadable flickers across his face for just a second before he smiles. "I already know my way around the adult portion of the lesson. Might as well learn a thing or two about cooking while I'm here."

Thankfully, the rest of the lesson isn't as erotically charged as the appetizers. Mostly because we're too frantic trying to keep up with the instructor to do anything else. Once everything is cooked and plated, we're all released to a dimly-lit balcony to enjoy our dinner.

Zane takes a bite of the scallops and whistles. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're trying to get into my pants. This is amazing."

He's not wrong.

On either account.

"I barely touched the scallops. That was all you. I guess I shouldn't have been worried about you not being able to feed yourself, after all."

He tips his head to the side, his mouth creeping up into a smirk. "You were worried about me?"

"Don't let it go to your head. I was worried about Aiden. I've grown attached."

"To Aiden," Zane clarifies. "You're only attached to Aiden, of course."

"Of course." His face is too handsome to look at, so I keep my eyes on my plate. "But really, you know your way around a kitchen better than I expected. All I've ever seen you make is boiled fish, brown rice, and veggies."

He curls his lip. "Once I got sober, I went a little overboard with the greasy food. Owen said it was a coping mechanism. My body was used to a constant supply of dopamine, so my brain was trying to find pleasure elsewhere."

The word "pleasure" on his lips is filthy, downright pornographic, but I ignore my own rush of dopamine and focus on this little peek he's giving me into the inner workings of his brain.

"Unfortunately, eating my way through the snack aisle wasn't exactly great for my hockey performance, either. So I made the switch. Then I stuck to the blandest diet for a long time except for pizza once per week."

The pizza Hanna ordered for him.

The fact that his assistant was responsible for Zane's "pleasure" once a week for years makes me hate her even more.

"Okay, but that still doesn't explain why you can mince herbs better than I can."

He waggles his fingers at me in a flirty wave. "I'm good with my hands."

My face flames. Don't I know it?

He sighs. "And I used to help my parents in the kitchen. They bought me a kid-safe knife when I was still a toddler so I could help out."

"That's sweet." Sweeter than any memory I have of my childhood, at least. "Is that why you let Aiden help you cook?"

He gives me a tight, sad smile. "Those were always good times. I want Aiden to have those kinds of memories, too."

So do I.

I clear the sudden lump out of my throat. "So where are your parents now?"

Zane's hand tightens around his fork. "Dunno. It's been a long time since I've talked to them."

I want to press. For some reason, I want to know everything there is to know about Zane Whitaker.

But those kinds of conversations lead to questions I don't want to answer. Questions I can't answer, unless I want Zane to boot me straight out of his and his son's lives.

My past is a risk to them both, and I'm not going to bring it up unless I have to.

So I point my fork at the fig and pomegranate salad. "Aphrodisiac or not, this is coming with us to the barbecue. Just warn your teammates that it might ignite an orgy."