Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Yeah?” He grinned, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes.
“Hell, yeah,” I assured him, this time with more energy.
Kage nodded, still smiling, then turned away and finished getting dressed. And that was it.
He seemed awfully chipper as he buttoned his clothes up, but I was confused. I couldn’t help wondering what I’d just confirmed. What exactly had we been talking about? Because for a minute there, it had seemed like—
No, I couldn’t afford to think crazy thoughts like that. And there was Kage busy getting dressed like it was just any other day. Not like I’d just admitted—
Oh. My. God. I might as well walk out into the middle of traffic and kill myself.
I’d just admitted that I had feelings for Kage. Whether he’d meant it that way or not, that’s what I had meant. No more pretending I was just horny, or that what I was feeling was a simple case of hero worship. Nope. The truth was I had a humdinger of a gay crush on my client. Like dicks and balls and ass and muscles and man kisses. Like gay as shit. Like… ah, hell.
I ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face as a wave of nausea crashed over me.
14
KAGE and I got out the door in 20 minutes, and somehow we managed not to speak another word to each other until we were out of the hotel room. He still seemed to be in his chipper mood, while I was still brooding over what happened. I really needed to get past the ridiculous idea that somehow things had changed between me and him. If he had indeed meant what I thought he had meant, he wouldn’t be acting like there was nothing amiss.
Since we were in the middle of the shopping district of sorts, there were plenty of restaurants to choose from. There was a little Italian eatery on the corner near our hotel, an Ethiopian place in the next shopping center over, and the requisite Asian buffet took up what looked to be a whole city block. But the thing that caught Kage’s eye was a little 1950s style diner with a checkerboard sign and about 10 booths in total. It had an old-fashioned soda fountain at the front with red vinyl barstools, and the workers wore white aprons and black and white striped paper hats. The tables were made of that old-fashioned gray Formica that I remember seeing in my grandmother’s kitchen before she had remodeled.
I wasn’t so sure this would have been my first choice, but the gleeful expression on Kage’s face won me over. The guy wanted to buy me a burger. Who was I to say no?
“You sit right there, and I’ll go order.” He gestured me toward a booth near the door. I really wanted to order for myself, but I sat down to humor him and watched as he strutted up to the counter with a spring in his step that made me chuckle to myself. He really was enjoying this. A few minutes later, he returned to the table with a big smile on his face and a tray loaded down with food.
“There’s a lot of grease on that tray,” I said, eyeing the two enormous burgers piled so high with fixings they were in danger of toppling over. A boat of fries sat between them, and they were flanked by monstrous 42 ounce cups of soda— the old red and white paper cups that collapse if you let them get too soggy. Kage was so utterly pleased with himself, even my grease comment couldn’t dislodge his smile. The glitter of excitement in his eyes was contagious, and soon we were both smiling like jackasses. “This looks delicious,” I told him, licking my chops at the sight of the strips of bacon dripping down the sides of the burgers. “What all did you order on these, everything they had in the kitchen?”
“Not quite.” He picked up his soda and took a sip. “I left off the chili and onions, and I ordered no tomatoes on yours.”
I raised a brow. “How did you know I don’t like tomatoes?”
Cage didn’t bat an eye. “It’s no mystery, Jamie. I’ve watched you choke them down for me, but I know you don’t like them. I never said anything before because they’re really good for you. I had hoped you would like them if you ate them enough times.”
“I’m afraid not. I tried, but there’s something about them I just can’t like.”
“Yeah, that’s how I feel about asparagus.” He took another sip of his soda, and indicated mine. “Have you tried your soda? It’s vanilla root beer.” I picked it up and sipped absently at it.
“But you eat asparagus all the time.”
“That’s because it’s good for me.”
I shook my head. “It never ceases to amaze me how much self-control you have. You push yourself to the limit in training day after day, pushing so hard for a goal that hasn’t even begun to materialize. But you keep the faith. And you eat things you don’t like because they’re good for you, and you resist the temptation for things that are bad for you, even though you love them. Case in point, that vanilla root beer. I swear your eyes roll back in your head every time you take a swallow.”