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“Missed you, buttercup.” My lips find the soft spot below her ear.
She shivers and melts into me. “Are you sure?”
I pull back. Boy, I really fucked up good here. Need to fix it fast. “Yeah, I’m sure.” I reach up and unzip her coat.
“Oh.” She glances at her wet boots on the tan carpet. “Sorry.”
“Don’t care.” I squat down in front of her and start unlacing the left one.
“I feel like a reverse Cinderella.” She holds up her foot so I can tug the boot off. I chuck it toward the door and start working on the other one. I toss it near the first. It hits the wall with a thump, leaving a faint black mark.
“You’re never going to get your security deposit back.”
“Ain’t worried about it.” I stand and pull a bulky backpack off her shoulders and tug off her coat, this time hanging it on the rack “Now. Let me greet you the right way,” I say as I approach her slowly.
Suddenly shy or nervous, or maybe annoyed with my grumpy ass, she twists her hands together in front of her. “I should’ve called first.” Her gaze drops to the floor. “It’s rude to just show up. What if you had someone over?”
“You’re my girl.” I clamp my hands around her hips. “You can show up whenever you want. Only people who’ve been over here are Dex, Remy, and another kid.” My face screws into a frown. “And fucking Grillo, but he wasn’t invited. Just seems determined to annoy the piss out of me.”
“I was going to call but I didn’t want to mess with my phone while I was driving.” She’s still using that hurt, apologetic tone that wraps around my conscience and squeezes.
“Good. Don’t want you distracted.” I graze my knuckles against her chin and tip her head up. “I’m happy you’re here.”
Finally, she seems to relax and accept my words. Underneath her fire, Serena’s got a vulnerability I need to protect. Need to watch my damn mouth. Can’t snap at her like I would a brother.
She’s soft and eager as I pull her into my arms this time. I could stand here all night with her pressed up against me like this and be perfectly content.
“What’s in the bags, buttercup?”
She steps back and shyly ducks her head again. “You seem like a steak and potatoes man. So that’s what I thought I’d cook tonight. Tomorrow maybe we could roast a chicken or we can do it Sunday? A few other things.” She shrugs. “I’m not trying to take over your kitchen or anything.”
“Take over anything of mine you want. But you didn’t have to spend so much money.”
“You put tires on my car. I think the least I can do is prepare a few meals.”
I grunt a non-answer. “It’s my job to provide for you.”
“And what’s my job?” She rests her hands on her hips and tilts her head to the side—all challenge.
“To let me do it.”
Her lips twitch and a laugh spills out.
Serena
I need to get myself under control. Once again, I’m too giddy. Too eager. Rushing things. Showing up on Gray’s doorstep with bags of groceries and a backpack full of clothes without checking to make sure he even wanted me here all weekend.
Another promise to myself broken.
Sure, he seems to feel bad for his less-than-enthusiastic greeting and spends time reassuring me that I’m wanted. Probably because now that I’m here, he might as well fuck me.
That’s not what happens, though. He’s affectionate. And if I move just right it’s easy to tell he’s definitely interested in going to bed. But it seems more important to him to apologize and talk first.
Once he says it’s his job to provide for me, I’m swept under.
It’s been nothing but me against the world my whole life.
“What else can I do?” I pause for a dramatic beat. “Besides let you provide for me?”
He curls his hands around mine. “Be patient with me. I’ve had a lot on my mind this week but I’m happy you’re here.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
He pats his stomach. “Actually, yeah. But you shouldn’t be cooking for me after you just got done working all day.”
“I’ve had cereal for dinner almost every night this week. I’ve been looking forward to this.” Why’d I have to say that out loud? It sounds so pathetic. “That’s my polite way of saying don’t get used to it,” I add to dial back the desperation.
I tug him toward the kitchen and together, we empty the bags.
“I don’t know if I have enough room in the fridge for all of this,” he teases, folding one of the paper bags and tucking it into a drawer. “Were you planning to throw a dinner party?”
“No.” I glance at the counter full of food. Maybe I did get carried away. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone in my life I wanted to cook for. “Your kitchen’s a lot nicer than mine. I thought I could make a few things…”
