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My chest puffs up at that. Either there hasn’t been anyone warming her bed in a while or they were assholes who bailed. Or she kicked them out, more likely. But I’m here, still here, which feels like a damn accomplishment with this woman.
“Haven’t cooked for anyone in a while. Shayanne and Mama Louise do the cooking at the ranch, mostly.”
It just slips out. Normal conversation, sharing tidbits with a stranger. Okay, definitely not a stranger if I know how hard she likes her hair pulled and what she sounds like when she’s ready to come. But I’m not usually one to share . . . anything.
Erica takes it in stride, having no idea that my walls just cracked a little bit. “I met Shayanne, and she mentioned Mama Louise. Is that your mom?” A big bite of pancakes goes into her mouth and she moans obscenely. “Ohmigod, these are so good.”
I smile at the compliment before answering her question. “No, Mama Louise is a Bennett. They own the ranch I work for.” I don’t tell her half of it used to be my ranch but I had no way of saving it from the debt Dad put us in when he died. It doesn’t matter now anyway, since that’s all water under the bridge. Murky water for sure, but done and over with. And we’re all good now working with the Bennetts. Working for them.
And I’m patching over that wall crack with a few dabs of hope and shut-the-fuck-up.
“I figured you would be more of a morning person being military, or is this lazing about a rebellion against those sunrise mornings?”
She freezes, suspicion on her face.
I point with my fork. “Picture over there. Emily doesn’t strike me as the guns and boots type.” A small tease and she relaxes again.
“I went into the Army shortly after high school. Those boot camp mornings were hell, but that was the easy part.” She shrugs and adds, “After basic, I went to Virginia for advanced training. I was lucky, posted stateside the whole time, with pretty regular hours. I came home a couple of years ago to run the shop when Dad retired.”
“And now you get lazy Sunday morning brunches specially made for you,” I conclude with a smirk.
She finishes her pancakes, putting away as many as I do and using more syrup than a sugar-starved toddler. She takes our empty plates, washing them in the sink. “What are you doing today? Need me to drive you home?”
And so it ends. She’s kicking me out now. But she offered a ride, and I’ll take those extra minutes with her. “That’d be great. Thanks. What do you usually do on Sundays?”
Her eyes tick to the microwave clock. “There’s a car show over at the high school today. I figured I’d hit that up, but it’s fine. I’ll skip it to take you over the mountain.”
I move to tug at my hat but find it’s missing since I’m sitting here in my underwear. I run my hand through my hair instead. “Or I could go with you?”
My head is literally on the chopping block here. Either one, or hell, maybe both, as I hold my breath.
“You don’t have to do that.” She sounds uncertain, nothing like the badass who swung a wrench at my head.
“I want to,” I decide. “Though before you agree to this, you should know that I will have to wear yesterday’s clothes. It will be the longest walk of shame in the history of mankind.” I get up and strut my way over to her, feeling no shame at all, to back her against the counter.
I kiss her passionately, tasting the pancake syrup still on her lips and tongue. Holding her cheek, I look into her eyes. “I want to go with you, Erica. If you want me to go with you. It doesn’t have to be a thing. We can just hang out.”
I’m testing her here and I damn well know it. I figured she’d kick me out, but she hasn’t. The opposite side of that coin is that she’s deemed us a thing now, one dick insertion somehow committing us to more. But maybe there are more than the two sides of a coin? Maybe it’s a multi-sided dice instead, with lots of options—like going to a car show.
Her eyes clear, brightening with a comeback a moment before her mouth lets it loose. “We can dab some motor oil behind your ears. It’s the only smell those guys would recognize and respect, anyway. We’ll even make it some of the special synthetic stuff so you’re fancy.”
Her playful wink is flirty.
Seriously. This ball-busting, wrench-attacking she-devil just winked at me after fucking me all night and declaring my pancakes the best ever. Or almost . . . okay, she ate them all, but that’s almost the same thing.
