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“Well, that doesn’t really sound like the kind of world I want to live in,” he says. “No offense.”
I look at him now, sitting at the table. He’s got a half-eaten plate of food in front of him, and I realize that we interrupted his dinner. He must be starving. My own stomach rumbles, but I’m not about to ask this guy for scraps. How pathetic would that be? It’s bad enough that I’m shacking up in his house with my kids.
He notices, though, and he sighs.
“Sit down.”
“No thanks.”
“Do it,” his voice deepens, and the way he commands me has me moving faster than it should. Shit. Why am I listening to this guy? Why am I obeying him? I don’t want to be obeying him.
But I slide onto the wooden chair and sit with my hands folded in my lap as he gets up and rustles around his little kitchen.
“So you live here alone,” I say.
“Small talk isn’t your thing, huh?”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Yeah, I live alone. You?”
“Aside from the kids? Yeah.”
“No husband?”
“Nope.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Nope.”
“Girlfriend?”
“I do not have a girlfriend.”
“Why don’t you have a partner?” He slides a plate of food in front of me and sits down next to me. Heath is much too close to me, and he smells so good. He didn’t bother putting a shirt back on when we got back, and there’s one problem with that.
He’s cut.
He’s got these rippling abs that lead down to the most fantastic cock I’ve ever seen. I mean, he’s wearing pants now, but that doesn’t matter because I saw it. I saw all of it.
Shit.
I think I saw too much of him.
“That’s a personal question.”
“I saved your kids,” he shrugs. “I’m curious.”
“Um, I don’t know, I guess,” I pick up my fork and start pushing around the food on my plate. It’s chicken and rice. He must have cooked this himself. There’s a biscuit, too, and it’s topped with warm butte
r. It looks so good. I lift the fork to my lips and sigh as the first bite crosses my tongue.
Fantastic.
Where the hell did this dude learn to cook?
“Has it been awhile since you’ve eaten, Theresa?”
