Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
I watch as lunch unfolds, Ethan first pulling his fucking microwave from his van and plugging it into one of the extension cords we have running from the house on the property.
Eating leftovers and stuff that can be heated quickly in the microwave is one of the ways we save time and get our jobs done faster. The guys voted on it this way. The more jobs we can get done the more money they make. We celebrate the end of each big job with a meal at the diner, and that seems to be enough for all of us.
"I scored a handful of servings of Ruth's chicken and dumplings last night," Ethan says with a broad smile as the crew begins to voice their love for the guy.
I don't know what Riley's problem is. Ruth could end wars with her chicken and dumplings recipe.
Chapter 9
Riley
Against my better judgment, I lift my hand and ring Mac's doorbell, already having made several trips from the car to bring all my supplies.
He doesn't smile when he tugs open the heavy door. Instead, he frowns down at the bags and boxes of things I've brought with me.
"What is all that shit?" he asks, pointing to the items.
"Really?" I snap, already annoyed at the light bloom of sweat beginning to coat my skin because it doesn't matter that it's the end of December. Texas can't even make up its mind what season it is and stay that way for any length of time. "You're the one who said you needed a full meal prepared."
"And that requires one of those giant mixers?"
I chew the inside of my cheek in an effort to keep from jumping on him and clawing his eyes out like a spider monkey.
"You said to bring what you need to make a meal," I say, my tone low and as even as I can make it in this moment. "I don't know what you have. Do you have a mixer?"
"No." He huffs.
"Then I need it." I reach down and grab the straps of one bag before walking past him into the house. "Bring all that other stuff to the kitchen for me."
I arrow in that direction because standing beside him with wet hair and smelling like the shower gel he has in his bathroom won't keep me in the frame of mind I need to pull this night off.
I avoid looking over in the direction of the stairs that I know lead to his masculine bedroom.
Despite the twenty-minute pep talk I gave myself in the mirror before leaving my house, I'm finding it very difficult not to let my memories from that night creep in and take over. It was insanely perfect until it wasn't. I can't ever forget how massive of an asshole he was, no matter how badly I'd like to be under him again.
I blame low self-esteem for thinking it would be okay to get tangled up in the sheets with him again. He treated me poorly, and it's not okay.
I'm blown away by his kitchen. The double oven, the pristine condition, and the layout are perfect for any chef to be successful in making a meal. I'm jealous of what he has as I step up to the counter and run my fingers along the cool granite countertop.
"Why so much stuff?" he grumbles as he places several bags full of food and dishes on the counter.
"I already told you that," I whisper, still enthralled by his kitchen.
"This is too much shit, Riley," he mutters before walking away to get yet another load of things I brought.
Ignoring him, I let my eyes skate over every available surface. The things I could do in a kitchen like this are endless.
"Sure is a lot of stuff to use in less than two hours," he says as he carries in the mixer and places it beside the other bags.
"Excuse me?"
"The McGees will be here at six."
"The text you sent said seven thirty."
He blinks at me, making me wonder if he really did take a hammer to the head a few times.
"I changed the time because I forgot my favorite show is premiering season five tonight. Can't miss it."
"And you didn't think that would be something I needed to know?" I growl, ready to walk right out, but I know how that will look.
The McGees would show up, and there would be no food. It wouldn't be his fault for not telling me about the time change. All of that blame would land on my shoulders.
"How difficult is it to make a meal?" he asks, and I can see by the look on his face that he legit has no idea what goes into preparing a meal for guests. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"Seriously?" I snap as I rush to pull ingredients, bowls, and utensils out of the bags. "Just stay out of my way."