Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Fine!” I snap, throwing my hands up and launching up from the other sofa. “Fine, I’ll get you what you need. You obviously haven’t had dinner, I’ll get that, too.”
He sits up. “Point me in the direction of what you want, I’ll cook.”
I stop in my tracks and turn to him. “You cook?”
He raises his brows, then grins. “I’m a grown ass man, ‘course I fuckin’ cook.”
I turn and walk off down the hall after muttering, “Loads in the fridge.”
But I’m smiling. And damn him for making me smile.
I gather some blankets, a pillow, and a towel and place it all on the sofa. Then I have a shower and change into some comfortable cotton shorts and a tank, run a brush through my hair, and join Boston in the kitchen. He’s busy chopping vegetables, something is frying behind him, and my kitchen smells amazing. I’ve never met a man who can cook, let alone food that actually smells decent and isn’t from a box.
I sit on the stool and Boston slides me a beer.
This feels far too familiar, and it kind of sucks because I like it, it feels nice. Like we’ve been doing it a long time and are comfortable, like we’re a couple. That makes a pain develop in my chest that I really don’t need, a pain that tells me I have feelings for this man, and this is what I want. I want him in my house every night. I want to talk and have a beer with him.
But that isn’t going to happen, because he’s got feelings for another woman, too.
Which means the feelings he has for me aren’t strong enough. And that hurts.
I shake it from my mind and drink the beer, watching him. “What are you cooking?” I ask, trying to make light of the moment, because my feelings are flooding in like an angry black cloud, and a girl doesn’t need that kind of shit on top of everything else.
I’m stronger than this, dammit.
“Found some steaks, bacon, mushrooms, vegetables. So, I’m creatin’. Fryin’ up the steaks, making a gravy from the mushrooms, and goin’ to cook up these vegetables.”
“And the bacon?” I ask, but my stomach is already more than impressed with his creation.
“Goin’ to toss it on the steaks, or beside it, either way, we’re usin’ it.”
“Fan of bacon, are we?” I ask with a smirk.
He looks at me, and damn he looks fucking fine in my kitchen, cooking, big arms free of his leather jacket and on full display. Why can’t he look like he’s been hit by a truck and maybe even missing a few body parts? I can’t handle it. My vagina certainly can’t handle it. Watching his hands move, his arms flex, is making me squirm on this stool.
“I’m a fan of food,” he murmurs back, concentrating on his chopping.
“Same,” I say, tearing my eyes away from him.
Everything falls silent for a minute, and then I say, “How’s Penelope? Saskia told me that her house got trashed by her ex. That really sucks.”
I’m genuine in my words, because it really does suck. Nobody deserves that. Especially not someone as nice as Penny. I have nothing against her, literally zero. She’s a wonderful woman, and it isn’t her fault Boston decided he was attracted to us both. I’m sure she feels just as shitty about it as I do half the time.
Boston looks up at me. “Can’t help but think your askin’ isn’t out of genuine concern.”
That actually pisses me off.
More than it should.
One, because he’d assume I’d be shallow and petty enough to have a problem with a woman who has done absolutely nothing wrong to me, not ever.
And two, because he actually thinks he has that much effect on me, that I’d get so snippy when it comes to him.
Okay, that’s partially a lie, because he does have that much effect on me, but that’s him. Not Penny. Never Penny.
“Fuck you,” I mutter.
The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, but, honestly, I’m not sure I’d even try and stop them. Because fuck him. I don’t like people thinking they know anything about me just because I come across the way I do. I might look bubbly and even slightly air headed sometimes, but I’m not a fucking idiot, and I won’t be treated like one.
Boston stops chopping, and looks at me. “What?”
“I didn’t stutter, Boston. I said fuck you. A big, nasty, fuck you.”
His eyes flash, and his jaw tightens. “Care to fuckin’ tell me why you’re swearin’ at me?”
“Seriously?” I snap. “You seriously have to ask that? You assume that I’m so fucking petty that I’d only ask about the well-being of Penny because I’m jealous, or butt hurt, or whatever the fuck it is you think I am. Ever think I have nothing, at all, in the world against her? She’s done nothing to me. Not a thing. I think she’s a lovely girl and I like her a great deal. You, biker, are the one who decided to play your little games.”