Adios Pantalones (Fisher Brothers 3)

The sound of someone’s stomach growling made us both pull away and laugh.

“Yours or mine?” I asked, not knowing whose stomach it was.

“I have no idea, but let’s blame you.”

“Blame accepted.” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Her breath continued to come out in short pants as her lips stayed parted. “Maybe we should eat first.”

“It does smell amazing.” I sniffed at the air as she bent down to retrieve the discarded roses.

“Sorry about dropping them,” she said with a wince, and I wrapped my arm around her waist.

“I’m sure they’ll survive.”

She led me through the entryway and into the small kitchen. I glanced around, taking it in, loving the size and feel of her bungalow. It was perfect.

“Sit,” she told me, pointing at one of the barstools at the built-in island. I did as I was told and watched as her dark blue jeans hugged the curves of her ass so spectacularly, a hundred songs should have been written about it.

“I hope you like Mexican. I never even thought to ask.” She looked at me, her brow furrowed.

I shook my head, clucking my to

ngue. “You’re always making assumptions about me.”

“Crap. What Southern Californian doesn’t like Mexican?”

A hearty laugh escaped. “I love it. I was just giving you a hard time.”

“Oh, thank God,” she said on a relieved breath.

Sofia plated my dish with huge servings of enchiladas, Spanish rice, and salad, then filled her plate with the same but in daintier portions.

“Does it look like I haven’t eaten in a week or something?”

“You don’t have to eat it all,” she said, sounding embarrassed as she pulled up the seat next to mine.

“It looks amazing. Thank you.” One bite, and I was in heaven. “This is delicious.”

“It’s a family recipe my mom forced me to make,” she admitted.

I grinned at Sofia while I chewed. “Tell her it was a hit.”

“She’ll love hearing that.” She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Do you know how to cook?”

I practically choked on my rice. “No. All I can make for us are cocktails. Don’t get me wrong, they’ll be delicious, but we’ll still be hungry.”

“So, then I’ll cook and you’ll bartend. Sounds like the perfect compromise to me.”

“I accept.”

I shoveled more food into my mouth. She’d plated me way too much food, but it was so good, I couldn’t stop eating it.

Finally, I couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room any longer. “Can we talk about the flowers?”

“From Derek?” she asked.

I nodded. “Did you actually like those?”