UNEDITED
After violating campus rules and committing student misconduct, twenty-three-year-old Warren Ashford is deep trouble and at risk of losing his volleyball scholarship -- the one thing he truly values other than his bad boy reputation, and hi...
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Nova
Warren asks me to help him make dinner an hour after we get back from a local market. Although it's my birthday, I agree to help because all I want to do is spend time with him. Besides, I'm no match for the power of his adorable dimples and Atlantic-blue eyes.
While he's gathering up everything we need for prep, I get changed and fix my hair. After a long day of kayaking and swimming, my hair is a mess of unruly curls. It takes the longest to fix, but when I'm satisfied, I change into the black dress and apply a thin layer of makeup.
I'm just stepping into the kitchen when I hear Warren curse. Something clatters to the floor, and I have to smother my own laughter as I watch him collect a spatula and pan off of the hardwood. Thanks to many stories told by Hazel, I know Warren lacks culinary skills. But at least he's trying.
As I retrieve the food from the fridge, I can feel Warren's eyes on me. I try not to think too much about the day I bought the dress.
I've just grabbed the green beans, salmon, and lemons when I feel his arms wrap around my waist.
"Hi," he whispers. "I love the dress."
"I know," I reply. "A little bird told me you liked the black one better."
He laughs. "You know what I was thinking when I first saw you in it?"
I shake my head.
His voice drops to a low, sultry whisper. "I was thinking about how good you'd look without it on. How easy the dress would be to take off of your sexy body."
My breath catches in my throat and I grip the food close to my chest. Was he actually thinking that? Or is he just teasing me?
Warren lets go of me and turns back to the countertop. I watch as he sprays a casserole dish with Pam. When that's complete, he turns back to me. "What does the birthday girl want done with the salmon?"
I stand there for a moment, looking at him with a small smile on my lips. He knows I hate celebrating birthdays, yet he's still milking it. I'm sort of annoyed, but I'm also extremely happy. Nobody has ever pushed my limits like he has. I don't understand why he'd do so much for me, but I can't say I don't appreciate it.
"Um," I say, setting the food down next the dish. "Maybe just dill, lemon, garlic, and butter? That's how my mom makes it. It's one of those never-fail recipes."
"Sounds good," he says, picking out the needed items.
While he preps the salmon, I start working on the green beans. I wash them, cut the ends off, and then use a spice mixture, along with some infused cooking oils.
When the salmon is in the oven and the beans are simmering in a pan, we get to work on the salad. He chops the lettuce into bite-sized pieces. I handle the accessories: tomatoes, cucumbers, pecans, golden raisins, green apples, and carrots.
