I’d XOXO his face later.
I didn’t even bother responding. The flu was going around along with a nasty twenty-four-hour bug. I preferred they stayed home instead of getting the rest of us sick, but it couldn’t have been at a worse time. We were supposed to tag team this flirtatious fuckwit, but now I had to fly solo. I exhaled a loud breath filled with annoyance and wondered if I could convince my sweet wife that we could just go home and forget the whole cooking thing. I’d be happy to order take-out and man the grill whenever possible.
“Evan, what’s wrong? You have that look on your face like you ate something sour. I didn’t even make your lunch today.”
Yeah, there would be no backing out of this. Remi had her heart set on going, and I had my heart set on making her as happy as possible. I pinched her chin between my fingers gently and moved across the vehicle to kiss her lips in a lingering kiss meant to leave her breathless.
“Chin up, sweet girl. It’s nothing to worry about.” I kissed her again until she moaned all sweet and compliant.
Pushing back, she waved her hand. “Your face says otherwise.” Her chest heaved and I knew my mission to distract her was almost accomplished by the dazed look in her eyes.
I grabbed her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers, licking the pointer one for fun.
“Eww, stop that. We’re going to be cooking food, and you’re being unsanitary in the car.”
I shrugged and reached into the glove box handing her a baby wipe to clean up. She made me laugh. Leave it to Remi to kill the mood unwittingly.
“Where’s the troublesome duo?” She scanned the parking lot, looking for their car, which of course wasn’t here.
“Chase and Winnie have that virus going around so they’re probably staying home. I just got a text from Chase.” I waved my phone before jamming it back into my pocket.
“Oh, no! We should go bring them something. Maybe chicken soup from the diner?” Remi was already putting on her seatbelt, but I stopped her.
“Sweet, but no. I don’t want you anywhere near them if they’re sick. We’re making a baby, love.” I caressed her arm and tried to be flirty, but she was on to my wicked ways.
Remi huffed and picked up her purse from the floor of the car. “Fine.” She opened her door and got out, leaving me to hurry up after her, locking the doors.
I snickered. She was cute when I said no, which wasn’t often, but still. It was possibly the flu or something else equally contagious and even though she had a huge heart, I wasn’t risking her health. Those two cooking class dropouts could call Grub Hub if they were hungry and starving.
I walked into the classroom and spotted Remi at one of the front stations, reading over the ingredient list and sorting the items put out on our table.
“Ah, Ms. Rooney. Lovely to see you again.” Fuckwit came up to the table with his clipboard and recipe cards as I got there. He scribbled on one of them and handed the card to Remi, who took it. He better not have put his phone number on the back of the recipe because I couldn’t promise to keep my cool. This is why I needed my wingman, but I was on my own and had to keep my temper in check.
“Mrs. Rooney.” I grunted, eyeballing the teacher. I could totally take him if I had to. He might have been gym buff and wielded a butcher knife, but I was pretty jacked myself and had a reason for wanting to throw down with his roving eye.
“And you must be the mister.” He held out his hand, but I didn’t take it, and he retreated when he saw his overture wasn’t welcome.
“Yeah.” I nodded at him. I didn’t have to like him as long as he did his job.
“Evan, you’re being rude.” Remi jabbed her little boney elbow into my side, and I grunted out of habit.
“Sweet girl, I don’t like this guy,” I said, not looking at her but keeping my gaze locked on him.
“I couldn’t tell,” she drawled, letting her south out. “Can we just cook and go home?”
“Sure.” I took the head of lettuce at our station and started chopping it vigorously. I imagined it was Federico’s body parts and hacked away while he chatted amongst the other groups. Every time he made his rounds, he politely bypassed our table.
On the second go around, Remi was putting the shepherd’s pie into the oven. Her round, plump backside strained the seams of her skinny jeans. From the corner of my eye, I saw Federico eying up my wife and saw red. He took a step closer, and I moved in front of Remi, blocking his view of her prime real-estate. I narrowed my eyes, and he dipped his chin like the fucker was actually going to challenge me.
“Evan, can you set the timer?” Remi asked and I had to search for the damn thing, since I wasn’t paying attention.
“Uh huh.” I took the timer and twisted the knob, not even looking at what I put on the timer.
The guy resumed his walk-about of the classroom ignoring us the rest of the class, which frustrated Remi and made me only too happy.
Forty minutes later Remi called to me in a panic. “Evan? Evan! I think our pie is burning?”
“Shit.” I grabbed oven mitts and carefully moved her out of the way as I opened the oven door and pulled out our sad mini scorched pies. They looked nothing like the recipe.
“Ugh, this one isn’t on me. You set the timer too long. No wonder everyone else’s came out like twenty minutes sooner.” Remi poked me in the stomach, and I slapped the oven mitts down on the table as pissed as she was except for a different reason.
“Fuck,” I shouted, startling the other aspiring chefs. Two women who brought their teenage daughters gave me a dirty look, and I sheepishly apologized. Across the room I saw Federico smirking. I hated that guy.
Turning back to the oven, I noticed the temperature was set incorrectly, about a hundred degrees off. I picked up the card on the table and saw the scribble changing the temperature.
My brain and body felt like they were disconnecting as my internal kettle boiled getting ready to blow my top off.
“I’m gonna kill him,” I muttered.
“Evan. No. I just want to go home.” Remi tugged on my sleeve, and I took her hand in mine. She looked concerned, but my sweet girl should know me by now.
Federico gave that smarmy smile, and I clenched my fists. “Problem? Oh, it looks like you burned your pies. Too bad.”
I repeated in my head not to do anything stupid. I hadn’t felt this level of anger since Remi’s ex showed up, thinking he could have visitation with Ethan. Only problem was that I didn’t have Damien here to beat him up or the rest of the guys to pull me off him if I went to town on his face.
“Evan.” Remi’s stern voice snapped me out of my homicidal fantasy, and I gritted my teeth.
“Look, pal, I don’t appreciate you screwing up our recipe, nor do I like the fact you’re standing over there eye-fucking my wife.”
“This is a cooking class. I am merely helping my students learn,” Federico admonished, trying to look innocent.
“Is that what we call preying on the women in here?” He was a total creeper, and I was calling him out. I saw a lady in the back nod her head at me. She knew. I was good.
“You should stick this turkey baster up your peppy ass and choke on it.” I took the kitchen tool and shoved it at his chest, forcing him to catch it.