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“See you soon.” Grabbing my keys from the ignition, I climb out of my truck and head to the grocery store. Grocery shopping is usually a task I hate, but I don’t mind it since it’s because Ramsey is coming over to make dinner with me. She’s quickly becoming a bright spot in my life
As soon as I walk through the door, I dump the grocery bags on the counter, not bothering to put any of them away, and sprint off to the shower. Ten minutes later, I’m in a pair of gym shorts and a Kincaid’s Body Shop T-shirt that I stole from Orrin when he was fixing a small dent in the door of my truck.
Rushing through the house, I check the half bath that guests use to find it’s sparkling clean. I never use it. I always go to my bedroom. I purposely don’t do anything to straighten my room or my bathroom. I’m hoping that will keep me from taking her up there.
Don’t get me wrong, I want her there, but we’re not there yet. She needs to know that it’s her. Her company and her time that I’m after. Anything else she gives me is just a bonus. After all the stories she’s told me, I refuse to be another man who takes from her. Not if it’s something she’s not willing to give. In the meantime, I’ll keep jacking my cock like fifteen-year-old me.
At exactly five, there’s a knock at the door, and if I wasn’t living it, I wouldn’t believe that my heart actually skipped a fucking beat just knowing that Ramsey is standing on the other side.
Abandoning the groceries, I rush to the door and pull it open. She smiles and holds up a small container. “I made cookies.”
“You didn’t have to do that. I picked up a chocolate cake at the grocery store, but homemade cookies sound much better. Wait, what kind of cookies?”
“Peanut butter. Oh. You’re not allergic, are you? Crap, I should have checked,” she mumbles the last part.
“No. I’m not allergic, and peanut butter cookies are my favorite.”
“You’re just saying that.” She laughs.
“Come on in. I can prove it.” I step back, allowing her room to enter my house. With my hand on the small of her back, because I have to touch her, I lead her into the kitchen. When we reach the island, I grab her hips and lift her up, causing her to laugh.
“A chair also works,” she says with a giggle. The sound wraps around me like a warm embrace, and it fills the silence of this big empty house. It’s a sound that I could find myself craving if I’m not careful.
“Maybe.” I shrug. “But if you’re sitting in a chair, I’d have to bend to do this.” I lean in and press my lips to hers. It’s just a peck on the lips, but it lights me up inside all the same.
“Hmm,” she responds. “I think I can see the merit.”
Playfully, I squeeze her side before stepping away from her. I have dinner to cook. “How was your day?”
“It was good. I ended up covering a shift for an early morning meeting in Harris for the catering company. It was just eight to noon. After that, I came home and showered and read a book.”
“Today was supposed to be your day off.”
“Yeah, but they needed me, and I didn’t have anything going on. I didn’t mind.”
“You work too hard.”
“Hello, pot.” She laughs. I just nod and laugh as well, because she’s right. “How was your day?”
“Good. Short, which is new for me.”
“You don’t leave early often, huh?” she asks.
“Never really.”
“And yet you did today?”
“I did. I was excited to see you, and I wanted to stop at the store to get what I needed.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my phone and dial my sister Piper. I was going to call Palmer, but I don’t need her gloating. My mother is out of the question. I keep waiting for her to get wind that I’m seeing someone. She’ll have our wedding planned in no time, so my middle sister is the winner.
“Hey, everything okay?” Piper greets me. Her voice is loud over the speaker. I made sure I used the speakerphone so Ramsey can hear our conversation.
“I’m fine. Everyone is fine. I have something to ask you, and I need you to just roll with it and answer honestly.”
“Have you been drinking?” she asks. “Have you finally worked yourself to the brink of alcoholism?”
“No. I’m not drinking, and I’m fine. I just need you to answer something for me.”
“Okay.” There’s caution in her tone.
“What are my favorite cookies?”
“Peanut butter. Why? Are you planning on having Mom make you some and then hide them from us again?” She laughs.
“No, although that’s not a terrible idea,” I tease. “I’m on a date, well, dinner at my place, and she made cookies. I told her they were my favorite, and she thought I was just telling her what she wanted to hear.”
