Zeke(19)

That’s why I stay away from the Lurlenes of the world. That’s how I’ve kept them safe from me all of these years. Something, though, there’s something different about her, and it scares the hell out of me.

“Like this?” Lurlene looks up from the peach.

I glance down at the X she cut into the top of the fruit. “Yep.” I smile. “Now, we put them into the hot water for a little under a minute.” I pick up a few peaches from the counter and carry them over to the stove. “Then they’ll be easy to peel.” I drop them into the pot. She’s at my side dumping her peaches in. Fuck. She smells good. “Fill that bowl over there with cold water. We’ll put ‘em in there to cool after we skin ‘em.”

“Okay,” she says and goes to do as told. And fuck, that’s good too. She follows directions well. I’d love to give her some while naked in bed. Damn hard-on. Think about baseball. All-time five best pitchers; let’s see, there’s Kevin Brown, Kenny Rogers ...

After the pie is in the oven, I join Lurlene at the table. With Jax busy opening JZS this afternoon and Slate crashed in bed, I knew that I’d have the kitchen to myself today.

“How long does it take to bake?”

“About an hour. I take it out when the crust browns.”

“So you really have baked a pie before?”

“Yeah, my grams used to bake one every Sunday. Sometimes, I’d sit in the kitchen with her while she made it. She’d say pie and coffee is the best social interaction a man can hope to have with a woman.” She laughs, and every time I hear that wonderful sound, I undulate. Man, she’s beautiful. Not the kind of beautiful your eyes alone admire. She’s the kind of beautiful that seeps deep inside your body. Her beauty seizes you, empowers you, and then it possess you, takes a hold of your heart, and hangs on tight. Dangerous, she’s just too damn dangerous. “So, of course, I had to learn how to bake a pie for I do like to interact with the ladies. But, to be honest, I’ve never done the whole pie and coffee thing to get a chick.”

“Until now.” She smiles.

“Right, but I’m not trying to get you. This is strictly platonic, remember?” I arch a brow and her lack of response presses me to admit the truth. “I enjoy our social interactions. You’re good company, Picasso.” I look at her for a moment. “So,” I stand up, “want some coffee with your pie?”

“I’d love that,” she says, her smile reaching the emerald glint in her eyes. Tempted to bend down and steal a kiss from her luscious lips, I turn around and head for the Keurig. At least, she won’t see the hard-on pressing against my jeans. Dammit, she gets my cock hard way too easily. Think baseball, asshole—Kevin Brown and Kenny Rogers, who else? 1997-2000, John Wetteland. Yeah, he’s another good one. I prepare the coffee as more pitchers from the Texas Rangers enter my head, alleviating the problem in my other head.

“Thanks,” I hear her sweet soft voice in my left ear, and then see her hand reaching for the sugar. “It’s been nice, ya know, these past few days. The Bayou is beautiful.”

I glance over at her finding sincerity in her twinkling eyes. She’s too close, a mere hand’s reach away. “So ya like being a teacher?”

“Love it.” Her eyes light up even more.

“English, right? What grade?”

“I teach at the high school, mostly sophomores.”

“Huh.” I hand her the mug of steaming coffee.

She takes the cup and palms it with her small, delicate hands. “I am not a teacher but an awakener.”

“An awakener?” I recall reading that somewhere. Damn, Addy and her literature. “Robert Frost,” I say as my mind recaptures it.

“Correct.” Her forehead crinkles. “Wow, you must read a lot.”

“Yeah.” I laugh. “Well, you awakened me, Teach.”

“How so?”

“The Bayou, you opened my eyes to it, and …” I pause, the fucker inside ready to attack the sexy beauty standing beside me. I pull my mug from the Keurig and lift it in cheer. “I think that this pie is a fitting end to our strictly platonic sightseeing tour.”

“Yes. I agree.” She lightly taps her mug against mine. “It is time for this strictly platonic adventure to come to an end,” she says just before taking a small sip of her coffee. Her eyes peer up at me from beneath long lashes, but they’re no longer bright and glistening. They’re dark and sultry. Fuck, I recognize that look. For the past five days, I’ve waited to see that look in her eyes. A hint of flirtation, a show of some kind of attraction, anything, but she never tossed me a damn bone until now. Palms sweaty and heart pounding hard in my chest, I come to the clear conclusion that I’m not the hunter here. I’m the prey. She’s not trying to hide her hunger. This sexy little predator wants to feast on me. Not even in the cage, getting my ass beat down, have I felt this trapped.