“Damn straight. That boy can spend ‘til his heart’s content. Nothing will go to waste while I’m around.”
“Speaking of indulging, would you watch a movie with me?” His gaze snapped up to meet hers and she chewed the inside of her lip waiting for his answer.
“Chick flick?”
She smiled. “Probably. Depends on what I can find.”
“I think he said the latest Wolverine is good.”
She arched an eyebrow. “You’re a Hugh Jackman fan?”
“Hell no, but those action sequences are worth watching. You can perv on Hugh.”
“Ah, I see. You are a Wolverine fan. The character, not the actor.”
“Guilty.” Steam hissed as he frothed milk. “I think I still have my original comic books upstairs somewhere.”
“Really? I never thought of you as a comic book nut.”
“Oh, I was never a fanatic, but I did enjoy the odd X-Men comic.”
“So you were into the whole superhero thing then.”
“Not really. It was more about beating the crap out of the bad guys.” He pushed a mug towards her. “Here, try that.”
Steam rose from the cup bringing the unmistakable scent of her favorite coffee blend. And, if her nose didn’t deceive her, he’d even added a shot of vanilla.
She hadn’t been paying too much attention to what he was doing, but now she watched him while he made his own drink.
“You really do know how to use that thing.”
“Have you tasted Wade’s attempts to use it?”
She laughed. “Ah, yeah. He’s not the most skilled barista.”
“No, he’s not. And that’s after he did the course Emily gave him for Christmas.” He topped his cup off with frothed milk and, putting it aside, cleaned the machine.
“He did the course already?” She took a sip of her latte. It was as good as, if not better than, any she’d purchased in a café or restaurant. “Damn, this is really good.”
He turned toward her, one eyebrow arched.
She shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to have a talent with coffee.”
“I have many talents, Vee. Coffee is only one of them.”
ChapterSeven
Brent scrubbed the milk jug with unnecessary force. The innuendo in his last words echoed in the room.
He’d heard her sharp intake of breath, but he hadn’t been man enough to watch her reaction.
Instead he’d turned his back and busied himself with something the dishwasher could do.
He was treading on eggshells and planting his size elevens squarely in the middle of them wasn’t a good idea. Not after the night she’d had.
Drawing in a deep breath, he concentrated on cleaning up and hoped she would ignore his comment.
She deserved to feel safe—not threatened in any way—now that she was home. And he needed to remember that.
