“Yeah, well, I figured you hate Valentine’s Day, and you hate him—”
“I don’t hate Sander,” said Kiko. That was much too strong a term. “We’re just exes. Who don’t get along.”
“But you’d eat this shit, right? Cocoa and cayenne rubbed pork chops, sweet potato wedges, chocolate wine sauce.”
Kiko laughed. Dom could barely cook eggs; he was not about to whip up a couple of Sander recipes. He had to know that. So what was he doing?
“Is this a joke, Dom?” he asked. Dom tensed, then groaned.
“Didn’t think you’d get it this fast,” he said. He sounded disappointed, yet still vaguely worried.
“I can guess again later if that makes it any better,” said Kiko, standing and moving to wrap his arms around Dom. He pressed his lips to Dom’s neck. “I can lend a hand if you’d like.”
Dom shrugged him off.
“You think I’m such a bad cook I can’t even follow a recipe?” asked Dom. He reached over to his beer bottle and took a drink. “No, I wantto make this for you, Kiko. Give me a chance.”