Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Pushing to his feet, he tugs me with him. “Good thing you’re learning your way around a stove then, huh?”
“Fantastic thing.” I go for the dramatics, fluttering my lashes.
Noah shakes his head with a grin, and heads for Cam. “Can I help?”
“You can.” She pushes him a few feet left, dropping a couple of Ziploc bags of already cut potatoes in front of him. “Toss them in some oil and—”
“Season them?” he cuts her off.
Cameron smiles, digging the creamer out of the ice chest. “I forgot. Bobby Flay is boning my bestie.”
“Cameron!” I laugh, and while Noah’s doesn’t reach my ears, his shoulders shake slightly, giving him away.
“Sorry, I meant dreaming of boning my bestie. Better?”
“Oh my god.” I cover my face.
“I bet that’s exactly what you’ll say.”
This time, Noah’s head falls back with his laugh and all I can do is flip her off when she turns my way. The only reason I don’t cuss her out is because she’s bringing me a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee.
“Asshole,” I whisper.
“Love you, too.” She does not whisper.
A tent’s zipper opening sounds around us and a few stragglers tumble out with wild hair and sleepy eyes, the smell of hot coffee likely the only reason they didn’t roll back over.
“Noah, my man,” a big, burly guy steps up, snagging a water from one of the ice chests. “You a jack-of-all-trades, or what?”
“He is, Georgie,” Cameron calls him by what must be his name. “The C isn’t only for captain. It’s for capable cook and considerable—”
“Cameron!” I warn and then large arms are around me.
I look up to find Brady.
He kisses my hair and finishes Cameron’s sentence like the shithead he is. “Cock.”
“Don’t encourage her.”
“I’m just speaking truths, Ari Baby. I’ve seen it in the showers,” he teases, laughing when Noah’s head snaps our way.
“That’s it, Lancaster, you’re last to hit the locker room,” Noah jokes.
“I’m good with that, brother. I love to be the last thing them reporter girls see. Makes it easier to remind them who I am when they show up ready to party later that night.”
I roll my eyes, saying hello to the guys who start to pile around the morning fire.
A few others fire up grills of their own, some passing off breakfast items to Cameron and Noah to contribute to the meal they’ve got going.
Chase and Mason emerge from their tents then, and neither climb out alone.
A small frown builds along my brow before I can help it, and I look away, confused by the numbness the sight offers.
Facing the fire, I taking small sips of my coffee, and Mason squeezes his chair between me and a guy named Hector. My brother drops his head back, giving me a pouty lip.
My sigh is playful as I climb to my feet.
Noah’s eyes flick my way, watching as I grab two cups, filling them with coffee, one with a splash of creamer, the other with a spoonful of sugar. I toss a grape at him, and he grins, going back to mixing pancake batter.
I move toward Mason, passing his off first before walking over to where Chase sits on Brady’s tailgate. He runs his fingers through his brown hair, nodding at something the guy to his right says.
As I approach, he looks up, and a grin pulls at his lips. “A spoonful of sugar…”
“Helps the nasty shit go down,” I finish his sentence, and he chuckles, slowly taking it from my hands. “Thanks, gorgeous.”
I freeze a moment, but quickly force a tight smile as I turn away. “Yep.”
With slow-paced steps, I find my cup and retake my seat, not looking up from the fire again after that, so as soon as Cameron announces the food is ready, I pop up, eager to help get paper products set up for everyone. Standing at the backside of the table, I adjust the trays as people shuffle down the length of it, loading their plates. I figure I’ll wait until everyone else is settled before I snag my own, but then Noah’s arms are coming around me from behind, and a plate is held out in front of me, the stack of mini pancakes steaming and fresh off the grill.
I peer up at him and he nods toward the plate, pressing into me slightly to grab a fork from beside me. He stabs it into the top one and leaves the fork there for me to grab.
“Taste.”
I do as he says, not taking my eyes off his as I bring it to my lips for a bite. The buttermilk flavor hits my tastebuds, and they come alive when a hint of something sweet follows.
My expression must give away my mouthgasm, because he grins.
“If you add a little shake of brown sugar into the batter, you don’t have to drown it with syrup.”