Page 63 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Early Winter 2014, Austin, Texas, USA

In Katie’s presence, the events of my day disappeared, regardless of what they might be. I found her to be cleansing to me, and each time we were together I felt myself becoming a fractionally better man that I was when we saw each other last.

Our time together seemed to pass quickly, and I couldn’t get enough exposure to her no matter how frequently I was able to see her. While we were in each other’s arms or embraced in a kiss, my watch seemed to spin at a much slower pace; allowing me to always enjoy our intimacy for what I perceived as a longer period of time.

I positioned the steak on the plate beside the grilled vegetables and placed the small bowl of peaches to the side. As I carefully lifted a portion of the salad from the bowl to the plate, she shouted from the other room.

“You sure you don’t want me to help?” she asked from the other room.

“Just about done. Be there in just a minute,” I responded.

“But you don’t want any help?” she asked.

“Sure don’t,” I said. “Just sit still.”

“Preparing her a meal was more enjoyable than I ever would have imagined. Making something I hoped she would enjoy with my own hands gave me a sense of accomplishment I couldn’t recall ever feeling. If it happened that she actually enjoyed eating it as much as I enjoyed preparing it, I would be an extremely happy man.

I lifted the plates from the counter and carefully walked to the dining room.

“Viola,” I said as I lowered her plate to the table.

“Wow,” she said. “It looks great.”

“Unless you got the wrong plate, your steak should be medium-well. Mine’s medium-rare, so if you cut into it and it’s wrong, hand it over,” I said as I sat down.

“Believe me, I will,” she said with a laugh.

“Peaches?” she asked as she poked the peach with her fork.

“It’s dessert, but I kind of had to do it at the same time on the grille. I was about out of gas. They’re grilled with brown sugar sprinkled on them,” I said as I motioned toward her plate.

“Well, it looks great,” she said.

“I’ve got the right steak,” she said as she lifted a piece of the meat to her mouth.

“That’s good, because I don’t think I could eat a piece of medium-well steak, even if I tried,” I said.

“It seems like it’s still almost alive,” she said. “I don’t get it.”

I shrugged my shoulders as I poked my fork into my salad. “Maybe it’s a man thing.”

“I think so,” she said. “And it’s got something to do with life, death, and everything in between.”

I’d never looked at it that way, but she had a good point. Men eating their steaks half-raw could very well have to do with something primal within us. As I cut into my meat and the little remaining blood ran onto the plate, I decided she was right.

We enjoyed our meal, and the peaches – as I had hoped – were a huge success.

“These peaches are good,” she said as she shoveled them into her mouth.

“I’m glad you like them,” I said.

“I don’t like them, I love them. I’m going to have to tell mom about them. You just grilled them?” she asked.

“That’s it. I bought ‘em fresh at the store, cut ‘em in quarters, and grilled them until they were slightly soft. Then I just sprinkled the brown sugar on them,” I said.

“Well, they’re great,” she said.