Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 45351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45351 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“You doing drugs or something?” I toss out there. His arm that is reaching up to grab a plate from the cabinet pauses as he turns to look my way.
“Do I look like I do fucking drugs?” No, he doesn't look strung out. He’s more of a type A personality and I don’t mean that because he’s an Asshole. An asshole who happens to be making me tacos. I can’t get a good read on him and it is messing with my head. So I am choosing to mess with his.
“Steroids?” I suggest. “You are rather angry.”
He pulls the plate down, placing it on the counter. He isn’t only angry but also freaking big. Not too thick, but tall and lean. I’m not shocked that he plays football. If I had to guess he’s either a quarterback or receiver. I’m going with quarterback because Deuce has serious control issues. I imagine he needs to be in the driver’s seat during a game.
If looks could kill I’d fall over dead. Too bad my body doesn’t react to his nasty looks the way I'm guessing others do. He doesn’t intimidate me. He’s not the first jerk to throw a dirty look my way. I turn around, ignoring him. That’s another thing I bet he’s not used to having someone do. Oh, I think he wants them to ignore him but they don’t. Well, he’s met his match because I’ll ignore him because I know it’s going to bug him. I really should stop being a jerk but he started it with his rude behavior. So what I was taking a little snooze in his fancy car? He needs to get over it. Plus no one told him to take me to his house. That was his decision. I hear a pan bang on the stove in the background, causing me to turn my head. I have to take into consideration that he is making me food but right now my attitude is the only defense I have. Believe me, I need all the attitude in the world to protect me from Deuce. His actions are confusing to me. He says one thing and does another. The harsh responses he throws at me make me want to leave but his actions say something different. We all know which speaks louder. The only thing that I can’t figure out is why he would want me to stay.
“Eat.” My eyes flick up to his. I’ve gotten lost in my thoughts. I should be more on edge. I don’t know why I’m not. Let’s face it, I’m in a place alone with a man I don’t know, but for the first time in a few days I feel like I can relax. I don’t know what is more tempting right now, the tacos or the sofa. I know if I sit on it I’ll be out like a light. Instead this one time I let Deuce boss me around as I come back to the counter to see he’s already made my tacos for me. I lick my lips as my stomach growls. Deuce’s eyes go to my mouth and the way he’s looking at me makes me think that he’s hungry for more than tacos.
I sit in the high top chair that he’s put my plate in front of. He doesn't have to tell me twice as I dig into the food. I moan at the wonderful taste that fills my mouth.
“Fucking hell.”
I look up at Deuce, who is watching me eat. I’m sure my face is a mess with taco remnants all over the place, but I don’t care. His jaw is tight and he looks as pissed as ever as he watches me eat. “What?” I ask. It’s tacos. You can’t make eating them look nice.
He shakes his head, going to make his own plate. At least that’s what I think he’s going to do. I’m finishing off the tacos he made me and the next thing I know he slides another plate of them in front of me. I guess he’s not hungry because it seems he’s given me his plate as well. His hand reaches out toward my mouth and I immediately pull away. His face drops for a second before he reaches over and hands me a napkin. I wipe my face, feeling bad for jerking away from him.
“Thanks.” I swallow a small lump that tries to form at his act of kindness. Okay, maybe he is a sweet asshole or one that has their moments. I pick up another taco and shove it in my mouth. Or he wants something from you, my mind whispers. My stomach drops. I try and push the thought away. No, he’s been a jerk but he hasn't made me feel uncomfortable. I’m the one that listened to him rub one out in his bathroom. Maybe he should be the one to worry.