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“Explains a lot.” She slid from the stool and walked around to where the dishcloth fell on the floor. She picked it up and laid it on the sink. “Okay, thank you for inviting me to join you. Another day that would be cool.”
“If you want to hang out while the ziti cooks, I can send a plate home with you to have while you work.” The stove beeped to let him know it had preheated. He set the timer for forty minutes, then slid his green casserole dish in to bake.
Olivia reached out and pulled his cookbook over. She looked at the picture, “That’s the same-colored casserole dish you used. And the plate has the same pattern as your bowl.” Then she noticed his name. “You wrote this recipe?”
“I did.” He tapped the book. “Wedding gift for dear friends. The wedding coordinator made copies for us. It’s one of my favorite possessions.”
“Amazing. This is amazing.” Olivia flips through. “I love this idea.” She leaned back against the counter while reading the printed letter he had written to go with his dish. “This is nice. It sounds like you. Nutsbe Crushed.” She paused, staring at the name. “That’s the first time I’m putting it together. Nutsbe is like a military name?”
“Call sign.”
“Huh.” She mouthed the names together and blushed bright pink, looking like she was trying hard to avert her eyes from his crotch.
And was unsuccessful.
“I lost my legs from the IED,” Nutsbe said. “Everything above my knees is fine.”
She lifted a single arched brow. “Fine?”
He offered her a slow, sexy grin. “Excellent if I’m not being modest.” She could take that as she liked. It gave her a chance to move into his arms or farther out of them. He tried not to hold his breath. Tried to keep any tension out of his face and his body.
She changed the subject. “I was telling my friend Jaylen about your military nickname, Nutsbe.”
“Call sign,” he offered. “Yeah?”
“I wonder what they’d call me. Something like Olive Oil, I’d imagine.”
“I’d probably go with something like Martini,” he offered.
“That flowed right out, and I guess it makes sense—olives.”
“Usually, it’s more than that. In your case, I was putting your name together with some adjectives: classy, sophisticated, subtle cunning. I was thinking more about Bond and less about olives. I could see you perched on a bar stool in a cocktail dress, surveying the landscape and plotting the destruction of the bad guys.”
“I sound a bit nefarious.”
“You’d only use your powers to captivate for the greater good.” He came around to her side of the counter. “I hope.”
“Let’s do that.” She stood.
“What?”
“Cocktails. Let’s dress up and go somewhere for cocktails sometime after Tuesday.” She took a step forward, and he caught her under her elbows.
Resting her hands on his shoulders, she pressed up on her toes and kissed him. It was different this time – deeper. This was less exploration of the possibility and more about need.
Nutsbe was not down with this.
He moved his hands to her hips to hold her in place and took a step back. “Olivia, you set boundaries.” He reminded her.
She was breathing heavily through pursed lips, and his cock stood at attention, “Ready for duty, ma’am.”
Olivia rested her hips against his table, reaching to either side of her, gripping the edge.
“You can’t have it both ways.” His voice was gruff. “I’m not a faucet that can get turned from hot to cold. You’re playing with me.”
“I’m sorry.” She put a hand over her lips and held his gaze without blinking.
“Did you want to reconsider?” he asked gently with a questioning tip of his head.