Johnny's POV
"Better yet, why don't I just show you?" I suggest grabbing her arm and pulling her closer to me.
We're staring directly into each other's eyes. My hot breath is practically searing her skin. I know she wants me, I can see the desire in her eyes. "So show me," she tells me waiting for me to make a move.
My eyes graze her body. She's wearing a little grey sundress. It's the epitome of cute on her. It has pinstripes of a darker grey shade all over it, a cinched waist and three buttons that separate the cups of the bust. Lining the cups is just a tiny bit of frill and holding up the dress are some flimsy straps I could have down in two seconds. Still the dress is a reminder of how sweet and decorous she really is despite the persona she likes to put on for show.
"You really think I put out that easily?" I joke letting go of her.
"Yes I do, or so I've heard from the likes of Lisa and Maya," she says.
"I never slept with Maya," I inform her, though thinking about Maya brings a smile to my face.
Maya Ward, Edward Quartermaine's great granddaughter and resident at General Hospital. She had a thing for guys living on the edge but she was trying to deny that she craved that excitement. She was with my former acquaintance Ethan for awhile. Lucky bastard!
"But you wanted to," she answered. "You certainly tried to from what I heard." "We went on a few dates, things got a little steamy and she stopped it from escalating beyond that. She wasn't interested in getting her heart broken again," I tell her.
Kristina's got a smirk on her face. "It must've hurt your ego to be rejected by a beautiful woman."
"Why do you care? You didn't even like Maya," I retort waiting to hear her response.
She puts on a serious face before her response. "I don't care. I was just saying you're not that hard to read. You're pretty damn easy."
I decide to lighten things up a bit. Sniffing the air I breathe in the aroma of cheese and sauce. "Weren't you eating dinner before I came?" I ask.
"That's right I was!" She recalls before turning and heading to her kitchen. "It's probably getting cold by now."
Instead of her bringing out a bowl of pasta or something like I expect, Instead she is carrying a half eaten meatball sub. "That's dinner?" I ask.
The only sandwiches I image her eating are dainty little ones cut into triangles. "Yeah nothing big tonight; simple and filling," she says.
"I hear you're quite the cook," I say placing my hands carefully on her waist. She shakes her head almost a little nervously. "You… You've heard wrong. I dabble in a few cooking projects I find on pinterest but I am far from a cook."
Talking her shaky hands in mine, "I'm sure you're a better cook then me," I say. "Maybe you could teach me a few things?" I question. My eyes are pleading with her hoping she'll give in.
Okay, so cooking is one of the last things I want to do with her. But I need her to feel more secure around me. Because that's what she craves, and if I want her to work with me then I have to make her feel she can trust me. "Alright, I guess it couldn't hurt," she says. She motions for me to follow her as she heads to the kitchen.
I follow her to the kitchen and see her pulling items out of cupboards and out of the refrigerator.
Walking up behind her, I slip my hands around her waist. "What do you have there?" I ask in a whisper.
She takes a spoon to something that looks like a creamy block of herbs. Cutting a small piece off, she put it up to my lips.
"Taste," she tells me, coaxing me to try it.
It's creamy and melts in my mouth. "Mmm, what is that?" I ask.
"Goat cheese," she tells me. "It's for the pasta. You boil the pasta while I make the creamy red pepper goat cheese sauce"
She hands me a pan and some pasta while she starts grating parmesan cheese. For someone who claims to not be much of a cook, she seems just fine in the kitchen.
"Did your dad teach you this recipe?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "No, I got it online. I may be the only woman not impressed by his culinary skills. He makes every woman the same pasta dish and they rave about it all the time as if it's the best in the world."
"So I take it you don't share recipes together?" I ask as I fill the pot with water and put it on the hot stove.
"Not now, not ever. I try to talk to my sister Molly but she doesn't understand," Kristina tells me, her eyes showing a hint of sadness.
"She's young and she just sees your father as Uncle Sonny. She doesn't know what it's like to be the child of a mobster. Not like you and I," I say placing a finger underneath her chin.
She turns away from me and grabs an immersion blender taking into to the ingredients she has mixed into a bowl now.
"And he always has an excuse for his actions," she pours her heart out to me. "Not like you, you take full responsibility."
"Enough about your father," I say.
"Alright, let's talk about how you killed yours!" She says and I feel myself going pale.
"Wha…What?" I asked dumbfounded.
"Please let's not pretend. Everyone knows you hated your old man and wanted him dead. A mysterious hit takes him out a week after he gets you arrested for something he did," Kristina brings up incidents I'd rather she not.
"Are you a narc?" I ask half joking, half serious.
"No, why would I narc on you?" she asks. "You cause my father pain and I like that."
She stuck a form into the boiling pasta to test if it was done. She then handed me the large strainer saying, "It's ready."
After straining the pasta we mixed it into the creamy reddish orange sauce. She added more cheese and garnished it with some herbs. There was a sparkle in her eyes as she finished.
"Did you ever consider culinary school?" I ask.
She smiles. "Cooking is a hobby of mine. Not something I could see myself studying and doing for the rest of my life. I'm still figuring out what I want to do with my life," she replies.