Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
I listen only because I hope that if I do it, he'll make me food and leave. Plus, I really don't remember the last time I ate something. When I'm busy or stuck studying, I tend to forget about normal life functions. That or I skip meals to try to save the money for Mom. Not that I'd ever tell Mom that. Or Drew.
He stalks out to the kitchen, all coiled tension and rage, and I follow, still in my underwear. Why bother when he's seen me completely naked, anyway? I throw myself into a chair at the table, my knees shaky and weak, my head spinning. Okay, maybe I waited too long to eat. Like the caveman he is, he opens the cabinets, rummaging through them before going back to the beginning to tug out a loaf of bread, peanut butter, and strawberry jelly.
It's on the tip of my tongue to warn him that those belong to my roommate, but she dragged him into my life, so the least she can do is sacrifice a sandwich or two. I cautiously watch him as he lays the bread out in a row and spreads peanut butter and jelly on alternating pieces. Then he carefully folds each sandwich together.
It's only now that I really take in his attire, the dress pants, dress shirt, the way his hair is styled so that little bit in the front won't fall down into his face like it usually does. Curiosity blooms in my mind, and I can’t stop myself from asking.
"Where did you come from?"
He doesn't answer for so long that I wonder if he even heard me. But he finally speaks when he places a plate with a sandwich, cut diagonal so it makes two triangles, in front of me and joins me at the table.
"I had to attend one of my father's parties tonight. I was texting you on the way back when you decided to get sassy."
His own sandwich isn't cut, and it's slapped together in a messy mash, two stacked up together. Even looking at the way he makes a sandwich tells me that he cares more about others than he does about himself. Maybe Drew isn’t as heartless as I thought. Maybe he just needs someone to make him care, to show him what compassion and love is?
"Your father? You’ve never mentioned him before."
He shakes his head. "And I’m not mentioning him now either.”
I stare down at the sandwich, and he lets out a loud sigh, then slides his chair next to me. As if I’m a child who can’t feed themselves, he proceeds to hold one side of the sandwich up to my mouth. "Eat."
I can feel the heat from his body radiating into mine. The hefty smell of his peppermint and teakwood cologne makes it hard for me to focus.
“Maybel, eat the damn sandwich,” he growls, and the vibration of his voice echoes through me. Every fiber inside me wants to fight him, to push his hand away or tell him I can fucking feed myself, but I know the power of those hands, and with the tense mood he’s in, I wouldn't put it past him to hold me down and force-feed me.
Leaning forward, I wrap my lips around the bread and sink my teeth into it, taking a big bite. He nods in approval, his eyes darkening as he watches me chew.
"I can feed myself," I remind him.
He shrugs one broad shoulder up. "Are you sure? If I left it up to you, you’d still be sitting in your bedroom, listening to your stomach growling. So now I’m feeding you. More." I take another bite, and he continues to feed me, a little at a time, until the entire sandwich is gone and my belly is full.
Definitely haven't been eating enough.
He snags his own sandwich off the plate and eats almost half of it in one bite. I don’t know why, but I stupidly smile at him. Maybe because, for the first time ever, our interaction isn’t sexual or violent. It’s just simple and normal. Either way, he returns the smile, and there isn’t any denying how handsome of a man he is. If only he smiled all the time.
"No need to rush through eating. The other football players aren’t going to steal your food,” I joke.
He gives me a puzzled look. “And here I thought you’d send me out the door the moment I arrived, but you haven’t even thrown something at me yet.”
“On second thought, hurry the hell up.” A bubble of laughter escapes me, and Drew gives me another megawatt smile that somehow makes me feel like I’m seeing the real him. The tension between us seems to ease, and the heavy feeling on my chest lifts. If only every interaction between us went like this.