Racing Home (Bryant Brothers Book 1)

don’t have to help. The salad’s done. I just need to finish these patties and season the chicken breasts and light the grill.”
“If you show me the spices, I’ll check to see if I can make my abuela’s secret rub. It’s really amazing on chicken.”
He arched his eyebrows and pointed at the cabinet where his mom kept her spices. “I’m intrigued.”
She rummaged through the various small bottles for a few moments, pulling out a few and placing them on the counter. “I don’t suppose she has a jalapeño or two?”
“Probably. Check the fridge. If not there, she probably has a couple of plants growing out in her garden.”
“Found one,” Camila said, holding up the small green vegetable as if it were a trophy. “Okay, move over and let me work my magic.”
There was ample counter space she could have used. But hey, if she wanted to be so close to him that they could bump elbows, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.
“Abuela, that’s your grandma, right?” he asked.
“Yep. My dad’s mom. My mom’s mother can hold her own, but my paternal abuela is a magician in the kitchen.”
“I can’t wait to try these chicken breasts now.” Based on the ingredients she was adding to her rub, these breasts were going to pack some heat.
“So your dad hates that you’re a bartender, and your grandmothers are both good cooks. What else interesting can you tell me about your family?”
“You think those facts are interesting?”
He lifted one shoulder. “It’s about you, and I find you interesting.”
She shook her head and began spreading the rub on the chicken breasts laid out on a cookie sheet. “I’m Puerto Rican. Both sides. My mother’s parents are still in Puerto Rico, but the summer before she started high school, they packed her off to the mainland, claiming they wanted to provide her with a better life.
“She lived in Atlanta with virtual strangers for the next four years. I assume that’s where she learned to be so mousy and submissive, because I can assure you that no other women in my family are like that.”
He chuckled. He liked her feistiness, although he was pretty sure he should keep that thought to himself.
“She and my dad met in college, got married, and he moved her up here, which is where his family lives. Luckily, my sister and I spent a lot of time with our cousins or else we might have ended up like my mom too.”
“It doesn’t sound like you get along with your mom.” Tommy couldn’t imagine that. Yes, his was trying at times, but wasn’t everyone at some point?
Camila focused on washing her hands. “I don’t get along with either of my parents, to be honest. They aren’t bad people; we’re just different. My dad thinks I’m an idiot for not going to college, and my mom thinks both my and Maddy’s life missions should be to find husbands and get married and have babies. But what if we don’t want to do that?”
“Do you?”
“That’s beside the point.”
“Sure, but I’m curious.”
“You’re going to be disappointed. Because maybe I do want that, someday. Maybe I do believe in that whole happy ever after concept. Maybe getting married and having babies doesn’t strike me as a terrible idea.”
“Why would that disappoint me?”
“Because you’re a player, and you want to sleep with me. You probably thought that because I’m a bartender, I’m into one-night stands. And it’s disappointing to learn that I’m not at all like the groupies who hang around waiting for you after your races.”
With a scowl, Tommy scooped the two platters laden with raw meat off the counter. “I’m going to go grill these.” He paused after taking a few steps. “You’re wrong, Camila. Maybe you need to stop making assumptions based on preconceived notions that you know nothing about.”
And then he stormed outside, needing to put space between him and the woman who riled him up like no one else ever had in his life.
***
After dinner, Tommy headed upstairs to take a shower. As the water beat down on him, he thought about the conversation in the kitchen with Camila.
She’d not said much else to him afterward, beyond ‘pass the salt, please’ and ‘would you like another chicken breast?’
The seasoning she’d concocted had been as delicious as he’d expected, but he hadn’t said a word, hadn’t complimented her, because he was still bothered by her suggestion that he was nothing but a one-night stand kind of guy who wasn’t interested in the same sort of future she was.
Like it even mattered. Hell, after Friday it was conceivable that they’d never see each other again. He planned to go to the bar to make sure her stalker, if he was still there, got the message loud and clear to leave her alone, and then she’d probably move back to her own apartment. And Tommy was leaving on Saturday, heading out to Minnesota, where he’d get caught up in his own life, which required every last bit of his concentration. He didn’t have time to moon over a woman who was right—they didn’t want the same things out of life.
It didn’t matter that even when she was pushing him away he was attracted to her. It didn’t matter that he maybe, kind of, sort of liked the idea of keeping in touch with her once he went back out on the road.
It didn’t matter because that wasn’t what she wanted.
Opening his eyes, he looked down at his erect dick. The trouser snake didn’t appear to care that Camila wanted nothing to do with him. Although the fact that she had made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested also meant that he sure as hell wasn’t going to have an opportunity to wet his wick anytime soon.
So maybe a little self-love was