Worth the fight

making?”   I turn my head to respond to her, but it takes a minute for her question to catch up to my brain.
    Not half as good as you smell.  I’d like to eat you instead.  “Couscous.”
    “You make couscous?” 
    “Well it doesn’t taste good straight from the box .” 
    “Cute.”  She smirks at me.  Even her smirk turns me on.  “What’s in it?”
    “Garlic, olive oil, peppers, onions, parsley…”
    Elle jumps down from the counter.  I had put her there to keep her at a distance.  She doesn’t realize what she does to me every time she comes near me. 
    “Can I help?”  Her arm brushes against mine as she comes to stand next to me at the counter.  She leans down over the pan where the ingredients are sautéing and her eyes close as she breathes in the aroma.  Clearly, she appreciates the smell.  Her face softens and her cheeks go slack as her nose delivers the scent to her brain.  It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.  She needs to get back up on that fucking counter.

Chapter 20
    Elle
    Nico lifts me as if I am nothing but a doll and seats me back on the counter.  It’s the second time he’s moved me out of the way.  The man sure is territorial about his kitchen when he cooks, oddly, I find it sexy.  The inside of his hand brushes the curve of my breast each time he lifts me and I have to recross my legs and squeeze my thighs shut to keep my body from responding to him.
    “I’ve seen you cook, remember ?  I think I’ll do this one on my own.”  He grins at me.  A cocky smile that should annoy me.  But instead I find myself mirroring his smile.  I’m smiling back at him after he just insulted me.  The man makes me lose all my common sense. 
    Dinner is delicious.  We get to know each other a little more.  I tell him about my job , my volunteer work at the battered women’s clinic, and a few things about my childhood.  I skip between the ages of eleven and seventeen.  They don’t exist to me anymore.  Nico tells me about his gym and some of the other products he endorses and I’m impressed by how much he seems to know about the products.  Clearly he doesn’t endorse something unless he uses it and feels strongly about it.  Unlike many athletes that endorse one product and use another, money doesn’t seem to buy his endorsement. 
    After dinner, I tell him to go relax and let me clean up.  He doesn’t listen, so instead we do it together.  It feels natural and comfortable to clean up his kitchen.  We work together easily, without effort…like we’ve done it a thousand times before.  It’s not the first time I’ve gotten that feeling when I’m with Nico.  Sometimes I feel as though I’ve known him a lot longer than I have.  Oddly familiar, yet it’s all new and exciting at the same time. 
    My heartbeat picks up as Nico pours me a glass of wine and dims the lights in the kitchen.  With dinner out of the way, there’s nothing left to occupy our time.  Except what I think w e’re both anticipating will happen.  We haven’t known each other that long, yet I feel like I’ve been anticipating this night forever.  Since the day he walked into my office.
    He takes my hand and leads me to the couch.  Nico looks up at me and his cocky grin is gone, replaced by something that I didn’t expect to see written on his face.  He looks worried.  He exhales loudly, forcing out a deep breath I didn’t realize he was holding, and his hands run through his hair nervously.  It feels like he’s mentally preparing himself to tell me something.  To deliver bad news.  My stomach lurches at the thought.
    “Have you ever been to a fight?”  The loft is quiet and his voice is so low it sounds almost pained.
    “You mean an MMA fight?”
    “Yes.”   He waits quietly for my response.
    “Once.”
    Nico’s eyebrows shoot up.  He’s surprised that I’ve been to a fight.  I grin at him.  He’s right to be surprised, I still can’t believe I got conned into going.  I haven’t told him that I was at one of his fights.  Especially not the one that I saw.   He smiles back at me, but then his face falls again before he continues.
    “Who was fighting?”
    “You.”  It’s not like the subject has come up in our conversation and I lied to him, yet I feel like I’ve done something wrong for not mentioning that I was at a fight.  That fight.  
    My answer takes him my surprise.  “You’ve seen me fight?”
    “Once.”
    “Which