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“What are you doing?” Lake asks.
I straighten, nearly bonking my head again. Thankfully for my smarting scalp, I stop in time, carefully maneuvering out as I say, “Nothing.” Then I’m snagging my plate and separating the chicken from the pasta. I stack a couple pieces of broccoli with it too because Steve’s a chonky boy and can use some veggies. Then I start cutting them up into bite-sized pieces.
I’ll have to get back to my car tomorrow, get him some real food.
Tonight though, I reach down and start giving him my chicken.
And broccoli.
And then some of my pasta because he’s looking up at me with big, soulful eyes and my chonky boy is still hungry and—
“That doesn’t look like nothing,” Lake says, and swear to God, for such a big man, he moves quickly and silently and all ninja-like.
I jump, nearly upending my plate—something Steve would have loved—then look up at Lake guiltily.
Is he going to get pissed at me for feeding his masterpiece to anasshole?
“Don’t you have food for him?” he asks.
“I do,” I snap. “It’s”—and just as quickly, my anger fades, worry invading, taking its place—“I must have left it in the back of the car.”
His brows tug together.
“I’m just giving him mine,” I say quickly, guilt pooling in my belly. “I’m not going to get more and give it to him.”
Twelve
Lake
I scowl.
Does she seriously think I’m going to get pissed about giving the mutt a few scraps of chicken?
I yank the plate from her hand, stomp over to the pan and scoop some more onto it. Then I reach into the cabinet, grab out a bowl, and pick through the pasta for some chicken to feed the damned demon dog.
He snuffles at my feet, clearly knowing where the food is and being impatient about it. I look down, clock those rolls on his back and neck, and decide to throw in some broccoli too.
Dog needs some greens, some exercise, and some manners.
I can help with the first tonight.
Tomorrow, I can haul his fat ass to Nova’s car and get him his damned food.
Narrowing my eyes at him in a silent warning to eat his vegetables, I set the bowl on the floor then walk back over to Nova, shoving the plate at her. “Eat as much as you want.”
She has tits and ass, but her face is drawn, her collarbones jut out above the slouchy neck of her sweatshirt. Plus, I lifted her, carried her into the house. She’s light as a fucking feather.
She looks—and feels—like she hasn’t had enough food in…maybe ever.
And fuck that.
The pan is full enough. There’s plenty of food in my house. We’re not about to go full Donnor party. She can have seconds. Hell, even the demon dog can too.
I shake my head, fill up my own plate for a second time, and glare at her until she starts eating again.
“Were you just nice to me?” she asks softly.
My eyes flick up, catch on those damned collarbones again. “No,” I mutter.
