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CHAPTER EIGHT
Later that evening, Madison stared sightlessly at the TV. Nash, bless him, had let her watch a stream of romcoms and K-dramas. He hadn’t left her side all day, and he hadn’t asked questions. Still, she couldn’t concentrate. She’d walked away from Matt twelve hours ago—after his unexpected kiss that had sent her reeling. Her heart was still breaking. How would she do without him for the rest of her life?
“Dinner?” Nash prodded, sitting a few feet away on his brown sectional.
“No, thanks.”
“I have to insist. You passed on lunch, too. And I didn’t see you eat any breakfast before we came here.”
She hadn’t. Honestly, she wasn’t hungry, but she understood his point. If Todd or Winston’s henchmen found her, she would need her strength to fight.
Pasting on a smile, she turned to him. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’m not much of a cook. Pizza? Chinese? Or I can DoorDash some burgers.”
All of that sounded too heavy and too spicy for her churning stomach.
“I don’t mind cooking. Let me prowl through your fridge and see what I can rustle up.” It took effort, but she found the will to get to her feet, cross his bare-bones bachelor pad, and yank open the refrigerator door. Maybe cooking would take her mind off the fact she missed Matt like a physical ache.
What was he doing tonight? Was he even thinking of her? Or had he just laid that soul-crushing kiss on her, then gone on with his life?
“Seriously? I’d love a home-cooked meal.” Nash looked excited. “I can’t tell you the last time I had one.”
“Be nice to me, and I might show you how to scramble an egg or two,” she teased halfheartedly.
“Or we could talk about you and Matt.”
Her stomach clenched. “There’s nothing to say.”
“You know I think that’s bullshit. You love him.”
“I’m hung up on him,” Madison corrected. Because if she loved him, she would be doomed to a life of heartache.
“Semantics. He’s ‘hung up’ on you, too. He has been for years.”
Nash must not know that, after their weekend together, Matt had ghosted her and walked away. “I’d rather not talk about it. How come you don’t know anything about scrambling an egg?”
Nash sighed in defeat. “If I did, then I couldn’t beg pretty girls to take pity on me and make me a meal.”
Madison was grateful he’d segued to her new subject. “No wonder Haisley avoids you.”
He leaned over the refrigerator door. “Because she thinks I want her to cook? If she was here, she wouldn’t have to lift a goddamn finger, I promise. I would treat her like the goddess she is. And I’d make sure her orgasm quotient was so ridiculously high, she’d never need to wear anything again except a perpetually loopy grin.”
Despite the fact he was a behemoth, his boyish enthusiasm was adorable. “Um…that’s not likely. Haisley has a lot of past, and you probably scare the devil out of her.”
“Really? Why?”
Madison gripped his shoulder. “I’m sorry. It’s not my story to tell. I can’t break her confidence.”
“Fair enough. But I didn’t piss her off or upset her or—”
“Nothing like that,” she assured. “It’s too bad you’re not attracted to Gracelyn or Charli. They’re both great. Funny. Smart. Charli is an amazing cook and—”
“Yeah, I’ve talked to them both.”
“No attraction?”
“What can I say? Maybe I’m like my brother, big guy with a hard-on for little things with lots of fire.”
