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They’re all just doing their own thing. In fact, some of them are doing the same thing but in different positions. I’m not quite sure what to do. Where to look or where to go.
“It’s mayhem, but you’ll get used to it,” a deep voice says beside me.
I turn my head and tilt it back to look up at him. I recognize him from when I dropped the cupcakes off the first time I was here, but I haven’t officially met him, and I don’t know his name.
Sucking in a breath, I clear my throat and start to say that I don’t think I could ever get used to anything like this, but I decide against it. Pressing my lips closed, I clench my jaw and let out my breath through my nose.
“I’m the president of the club. They call me Atomic.”
Smiling, I nod my head once. “Shawn,” I exhale.
He hums. “You wanna get something to eat? We ordered takeout tonight, and there’s a bunch left over.” My stomach growls again, and he lets out a chuckle. “Come on,” he says.
Atomic jerks his chin toward a door before he turns and begins to walk away from me. I follow. He opens a door and waltzes inside. I enter behind him and stop once I’ve made my way into the room.
It’s a kitchen and not just any kitchen—it’s a professional one.
My jaw drops at the beauty of this kitchen. Everything is new, practically untouched. I don’t know why they have a full kitchen with some of the nicest appliances I’ve ever seen, but they do, and I want to get my hands on all of it. I want to bake in here. The counter space is to die for.
“Hope you like spaghetti, breadsticks, and salad,” Atomic calls out, his face buried in the fridge.
“I do,” I reply, my eyes still taking in the whole place. The kitchen is out of this world.
He pulls the containers out of the fridge and then opens a cabinet and takes a plate out with some bowls. I watch him for a moment, then decide I need to help. Standing beside him, I help him plate the food, and then we start to make the salads.
I’m not sure what we’re talking about. He asks me about where I grew up, says he doesn’t recognize me from town, and we make small talk when I hear someone clear their throat. Atomic does the same, and then he chuckles.
“Welcome back, King. You want some spaghetti, too?”
Slowly, I turn to face Elvis, who is standing with his shoulder against the jamb of the door, his eyes focused on mine and his jaw clenched so hard that I actually see a muscle jump in his cheek.
“No,” Elvis grinds out. “I don’t.”
I’m not exactly sure what’s happening here. I can tell that he is pissed off, but he left me here all day long, and I’m starving, so I ignore him and continue to heat up the food and take it over to the large bar area that has stools.
King stays exactly where he is and watches me.
And I eat because… food.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
SHAWN
Once I’m finished eating, I clean up my plate and Atomic’s. The meal was quiet, our conversation having died when Elvis came to the door and stared at us the entire time. He lifts his hand, giving me a smile and a wave as he leaves the room, brushing past Elvis on his way out, which leaves the two of us alone.
Only when we are alone does Elvis push off the door and make his way toward me. With the dishes rinsed and placed in the dishwasher, I back up to the counter, my hip slamming against it. I reach back and grab hold of the edge, gripping it tightly as I suck in a breath and hold it.
He moves closer to me, so close that his chest is almost touching mine, then he lifts his hand and cups my cheek. I continue to hold my breath while I look up at him, my gaze searching his. And then it happens.
My eyes widen when it does.
Jerking my head back, I narrow my eyes up at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask.
I don’t know what’s come over me. I’ve never felt this before. It’s like red-hot rage bubbles up inside of me, starting at my belly and then beginning to course through my veins throughout my entire body. It’s so bad that I can’t even really hear much of anything aside from my heart beating in my ears.
“What?” he asks, keeping his hand on my cheek, and I wish he would take it off me.
