Page 23 of Filthy Uncle To Go

“I love Chinese,” I admit.

“Great,” he says as he picks up one of the containers and opens it. “Kung pao chicken?” he offers.

“Yes, please,” I say. Using chopsticks, he scoops a helping of the chicken onto my plate, followed by a few scoops of white rice. “Is that enough?”

I bite my lip.

“A little more, if you don’t mind? This is my favorite dish.”

He grins and chuckles.

“Of course, honey. Have as much as you like,” he replies as he scoops more for me. “Speaking of which, I’m glad you came over for dinner.”

“Well, I only agreed because I thought you were cooking for me,” I tease.

“And risk burning down my kitchen? No way,” he chuckles. “I figured you didn’t want to risk getting food poisoning either,” he jokes.

I giggle, finally warming up a bit.

“Sheesh, is your cooking that bad?” I giggle. He laughs as he hands me a pair of chopsticks. “To be honest, I’ve never been good with chopsticks,” I admit.

“Really? Well, I can teach you if you want, or would you rather use a fork?” he asks. I think for a bit.

“I want you to teach me,” I decide.

“Sure, no problem,” Drake says as he walks behind me. He leans against my back, his warm breath tickling my neck. “Hold them like this.” He positions the two pieces of wood in my hand.

“Like this?” I ask.

“Yup, just like that. Now, try to pick up that piece of chicken,” he says, pointing to the juicy meat. I try to pick it up, but it falls from the chopsticks with a plop. We both laugh, his hearty chuckle warming me all over. “Try again.”

“Okay.” Slowly, I reach for the piece of chicken and pick it up successfully. “I did it!”

“Good job,” he praises. Then I feel something graze my neck. OMG, did he just kiss me there? But Drake merely walks over to his seat and sits across from me, so it must have been my imagination. My heart’s racing as I look at him with wide eyes.

“Eat, honey,” he commands as he munches on the chicken. “I ordered it from a little spot not too far from here.”

“Do you order out a lot?” I ask.

“Yeah, I do. I don’t really have a choice,” he grimaces. “There’s so much fat and grease in restaurant food, but I just don’t have time to cook.”

I cock my head at him.

“Well, since I’m not that far from here, I can always stop by and make you a home-cooked meal whenever you want,” I offer, taking another bite of chicken.

His blue eyes flare for a moment.

“Do you mean it?” he asks.

“Of course! It would be no trouble.”

“Well, honey, if you’re serious, then I’d like that a lot,” he drawls.

“Okay, just let me know when you’re craving something other than kung pao chicken,” I laugh. “That’s not in my repertoire.”

He nods.

“Thank you, baby girl. No one’s ever offered to cook for me before,” he murmurs.