Page 37 of Wanted By You

“I’ll take you to work in the morning on my way in. And I’ve got an extra toothbrush you can have,” he says reasonably. I gape up at him scrolling through his phone. Does he always haveeverything figured out like this all the time? “Where do you want food from?”

“I’m not—”

“You’re eating.” The grit in his tone leaves no room for discussion. “Do you like Chinese takeout?”

I scrunch my nose. “Too much salt. It makes me bloated.”

“All right,” he drawls. “Pizza and wings?”

“Eh…I’m not really feeling pizza.”

“Fish fry?”

“Meh.”

“Subs?”

“I had a sandwich for lunch.”

Butch rattles off just about every place in town to get food from trying to appease me—even the grocery store—before he finally huffs out a long breath and decides for us both. “How ‘bout we do the Tavern? They’ve got a full menu. You can pick whatever you want,” he says, handing me his phone with their menu pulled up on the screen.

I hum, trying to decide what sounds good when Butch chuckles deeply. I glance up at him watching me. “What?”

His grin is wide and infectious. “Nothing.” He tilts his chin to the phone in my hand. “Find anything you like?”

I shrug and hand him back the phone. “My usual is fine. The cheeseburger quesadilla with extra pickles on the side, please.”

“You got it,” he says, pocketing the phone. “Do you need anything else?”

I look around. “Maybe just where the laundry is?”

“Downstairs in the bathroom. If you open the double closet doors, it’s in there.”

“Do you have anything that needs to be done?” Gesturing down at my clothes. “I don’t want to waste a load on just this.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll go snooping if you don’t just show me where you put your dirty clothes, Butch.”

He shoots me a scowl. “Snoop all you want. You don’t need to be doing my laundry.”

I roll my eyes, exhaustion from not sleeping a wink in the last thirty-six hours starting to set in. “Whatever, Butch, I’m too tired to argue with you right now.”

He crosses his thick arms over his broad chest, watching me regard Frankie sitting on my feet yawning. “The tall basket in my room,” he grunts, and I bite my lip to keep from teasing him. “You can use my bathroom if you want so you don’t have to go downstairs.”

“Okay.” I sigh, feeling slightly emotional over being in this big house alone with Frankie. Even though I know he’s just running out to get dinner for us. “Thank you for letting me stay here—well, us.” I smile as Frankie lays down to cover my feet fully with his girth.

Butch nods, watching us for a long moment. “Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“We’ll be here,” I tell him, and the corner of his lip curls as he turns, leaving Frankie and me alone.

Flopping back on the bed, Frankie whimpers to finally be let up so I lean down and hoist him up. He picks a spot, claims it, and closes his eyes to get some much-needed sleep.

I hear ya buddy.

I make quick work of bringing up all my stuff for…the next few days, I suppose. Putting the few things I have away, I push my safe in the closet and use a few hangers to hang up the wrinkled work shirts I grabbed, before heading into Butch’s room across the hall.

I linger in the space, surveying my surroundings. The large, unmade king-sized bed now missing a pillow, how he clearly sleeps on the left side—closest to the door, which I like far morethan I care to admit—and the lack of décor in here aside from a family photo sitting atop his dresser.

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