Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Your beer is on the bottom shelf,” Rayne answered. “And what is what?”
“That block of thick, wet, white—”
“Before you say shit… it’s tofu. I plan to make a scramble on Monday morning before work.”
Mike shook his head, but he looked more amused than annoyed. He popped open his beer and guzzled a few gulps, his eyes catching on the sauté pan on the back burner. “Why is there green shit on the stove?”
“It’s spicy garlic edamame.” Rayne chuckled at the horrified expression on Mike’s face.
“What the hell is etta—? Oh, never mind. Rayne, I’ve been working outside in the sun all day… I’m not about to eat like I’m on a keto diet.” Mike tossed his empty beer bottle in the trash. His steps faltered when he noticed the huge bowl of oranges, apples, and peaches on the island.
“Mike. Before you judge, give my food a chance. You might like it. You are what you eat, y’know.”
“Well, tonight, I guess I feel like being a cow because I’m about to order a double cheeseburger from Outback.”
Rayne sucked his teeth.
“Calm down. I was gonna buy you one too,” Mike said, sounding for real.
“And does it come with a side of high cholesterol too? No, thank you. We’re going to eat what I cooked.” Rayne leaned forward and kissed Mike’s slack lips while he stood next to him at the stove, peeking in the pot as if there was something scary inside of it.
“Where’s the meat?”
“In the oven. We’re having pan-roasted salmon.”
“Well, only if it’s organic, wild-caught, and ethically butchered, of course,” Mike droned, and Rayne barked a laugh so hard he shocked even himself. He didn’t know Mike had a sense of humor.
“Very cute. And actually, it is wild-caught Pacific, so the joke’s on you.”
“You’re lucky I’m crazy about you.” Mike eased behind him, making Rayne pulse and tingle in some interesting places from that declaration.
Mike’s hair was still damp from his shower, and Rayne got a good whiff of the masculine bodywash as Mike burrowed under Rayne’s collar. Mike ventured beneath Rayne’s loose shirt and stroked his rough hands over his skin, making every nerve and cell strain toward him.
“Where’d you learn to cook like this? You don’t strike me as the type that spent hours in the kitchen.”
Rayne stiffened in Mike’s arms before he answered with the truth. “No, I didn’t have to cook at all. The men I went out with usually had room service options or personal chefs. I used to watch the kitchen staff when I had nothing else to do since my company was only required at night.”
Mike didn’t say anything, and Rayne was glad he didn’t try to say something annoyingly positive.
“So, I guess I picked up a few things along the way.” Rayne added a pinch more oregano and basil to the vegetables, then turned them off. “Can I ask you a question now?”
“You can ask me anything you want.” Mike’s breath was warm against his neck, and Rayne reveled in the fact that he’d just admitted he used to be nothing but evening entertainment and he was still being held in comforting arms. “Why do Bishop and Trent alternate calling you Mike and Dad?”
Mike chuckled. “That’s a long, shitty story, so I’ll spare you too many details.”
“Okay, I’ll take the abridged version for now.”
“I’m probably the epitome of a statistic. I didn’t know my own parents at all—they were probably drug addicts or in and out of jail. From the time I could remember, I was in the foster care system until I ran away at twelve. I made a slew of fucked-up decisions and ended up a dad by the time I was fifteen. Bishop’s mom was a lot older and caught up in a bad marriage, so she left me with him right there in the hospital.”
Rayne’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“After she had Bishop, she just took off without a word. I was so damn terrified, not to mention embarrassed to be a dad back then, so I told people he was my cousin, nephew, friend’s kid, whatever. And when Bishop got older, he looked so much like me it was easy to pass as brothers. I told him to call me Mike, and he was my little homie.” Mike sighed. “It wasn’t until I realized the honor of being a father that I asked him to call me Dad. Trent isn’t my blood, but he’s my son, and I asked him to start calling me Dad too.”
“I like that,” Rayne whispered.
“I think I’ve noticed a pattern. When they’re pissed or annoyed with me, they call me Mike. But when we’re feeling all family-like and shit, they call me Dad.”
Rayne smiled. He actually liked that a lot. Every family was different. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat.”
“Good, I’m starved.” Mike grabbed the salt and a bottle of hot sauce from out of the cabinet.