Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Arturo’s hands were rough against her thighs as he spread them, his mouth hard and hungry on the—”
“Oh my God!” She stabs at her phone until the voice stops.
I bite back a smile. “Audiobook or sex hotline?”
“Shut up.” Her cheeks are pink. Fuck, she’s cute when she’s embarrassed. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little romantic literature.”
“Never said there was.”
She narrows her eyes at me as if she’s waiting for me to make a joke, then closes out the library’s audiobook app. “I was just making dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not.” I told her to make herself at home, and I’m glad to see she finally is. Despite her declaration that she was reuniting with carbs, I’m not sure I’ve seen her eat more than egg whites and an occasional apple since she got here. I don’t know if that’s because she doesn’t eat much or because she feels weird making herself food at my place.
I rub my hands together. “And anyway, I’m starving. How can I help?”
She glances around and shrugs. “Sure, but there’s not much to do. I’m just making some chicken breast for a salad.”
I step behind her and frown at the ingredients she has laid out. “Where’s the rest?”
“What?”
I arch a brow. “I see chicken breast and I see lettuce. Where’s the rest? The goodies? The stuff that makes a salad worth eating?”
She laughs. “I just ran into the store to grab stuff for a quick dinner. I didn’t buy anything to make it fancy.”
“I’m not talking fancy. I’m talking delicious. I bet I have some stuff.” I dig into the fridge and pull out cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, and more cheese. Then in the pantry I find tortilla strips, a can of corn, and a can of beans, and slide them onto the counter. “How about a Santa Fe-style chicken salad?” She nods, but the look in her eyes has me hesitating. “Or are you still counting carbs and shit?”
She glances down at the pile of ingredients I’ve added to the island. “I guess it’s just an old habit at this point.”
“Can I ask why?” I turn to the sink to wash my hands. “Why with the dieting? Do you have a health condition or something?”
She coughs out a laugh. “No. It’s just . . .” She sighs. “My mom was always on me about watching it when I was growing up, and Chuck had this thing about how a man should be able to pick up his woman.”
I grunt. Savvy could binge on pizza and donuts for two months and I’d still be able to pick her up. Easily. However, I don’t think this is a good time to flex, so I keep that to myself.
“I tend to get a little heavy in the butt and hips,” she says, cringing. “And since he was cutting weight for the fights . . .”
“He couldn’t pick you up, so that was something you needed to fix?” I ask. Fuck staying quiet. Chuck is such trash. I suspected that before my sister got tangled up with him, but afterward, he left no doubt.
Savvy drops her gaze to the counter and shakes her head. “It’s stupid, I guess.”
“Hey.” I wait until she meets my eyes. She’s so fucking gorgeous. I love those hazel eyes—how much she always seems to have going on in them, like she never stops thinking. “It’s your choice how you want to eat. And if you want to do the whole low-carb thing or live on plain lettuce and dry chicken breast, I’ll shut my mouth. But don’t do it for him. He’s not fucking worth it.”
She swallows. “Yeah. I know that.” She folds her arms over her chest and looks away. “Like I said, old habits.”
I can’t wait to feed this girl. Heavy in the hips and ass? Chuck’s an idiot. She’s incredibly petite, but no amount of dieting can give a woman the hips of a ten-year-old boy. I don’t get why so many women think that’s the goal. Savvy’s hips and ass are the reason I practically have to sit on my hands when she’s near me. And while they might not be the only reason I want to touch her so badly, they’re sure as hell a contributing factor. But I won’t. She doesn’t need to get herself wrapped up with a guy like me.
We make dinner together, working side by side, and then eat at the table. I love watching her enjoy food, and I’m planning all the ways I can get away with feeding her.
When we’re both finished, I grab our plates before she can stand and load them into the dishwasher.
“You should let me do that,” she says when I start filling the sink to scrub the skillet.
Let me guess—Chuck made her do all the cleaning too? Human garbage. “I’m perfectly capable of washing a couple of dishes.”