Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Your stomach.”
“What about it?” His eyebrows pinched together and he pressed a hand to his gut.
Of course that move drew her eyes lower.
“It…” was much smaller than when he walked in the door. How should she say it without insulting him? You were much fatter when you walked in earlier. She covered her mouth with her hand to contain the giggle that bubbled up. “It looks… different.”
“I wear a fake stomach.”
“You do? Why?” She pointed to a seat at the small dining table in the kitchen. “Sit.”
With raised eyebrows at her bossiness, he pulled out a chair and sank his bulk into it with a resounding sigh of exhaustion.
She placed a plate with a steaming piece of quiche and a small side salad onto the placemat next to his napkin and utensils. While she did so, she tried not to lean closer and take a deep hit of his fragrant soap.
If he caught her doing that, it wouldn’t only be embarrassing, she might find herself homeless again. And only one day after moving in.
“I wear it to fit in with the Demons. Not having even a slight beer gut would look suspicious. I had to do something to look less swole.”
“Swole?”
“Cut, ripped, jacked.”
She nodded like she was taking everything he was saying seriously. “So, basically muscular.”
“Yeah. Most bikers don’t go to the gym five days a week. Their exercise mainly consists of lifting a beer or cigarette to their lips.” He added, “Or fucking,” as a second thought.
“Well, fucking can be good cardio.” Did that just slip out of her mouth? Heat rose into her cheeks and she quickly turned away to hide it. She busied herself by grabbing the vinaigrette dressing from the fridge.
“In most cases, but not if you make the woman do all the work.”
She hoped the flush had subsided when she plunked the bottle on the table. “Yikes. Why would women want that?”
He cut off a piece of quiche with his fork and lifted it to his lips. “You’re asking the wrong person. I consider fucking a two member sport.”
Good to know. She focused on his mouth as he chewed and before she could stop it, she asked, “What about threesomes?”
His bite of quiche must have gone down the wrong pipe, since he began to cough.
“Do I need to do the Heimlich?”
He pounded on his chest and shook his head. “No,” he croaked.
“I’ll get you something to drink.”
“You don’t have to serve me, Sloane. Sit,” he ordered, his voice still rough from inhaling the quiche down his lungs.
“At least let me grab you a glass of water after making you choke.”
Not bothering to wait until he responded, she grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with ice and water from the dispenser on the freezer door.
After placing it within his reach, she sat across from him. Was she really going to sit there and watch him eat?
She wasn’t against that activity, but again, it might seem a little creepy. Especially when she kept trying to picture him without that mess on his face and his hair cut a lot shorter.
“This is damn good, Sloane.”
His compliment made her smile. It was nice to have someone appreciate her cooking. “I’m glad you like it.”
He stabbed pieces of the tossed salad with his fork and shoved it into his mouth.
As the silence between them grew, she got antsy, while he seemed to be completely comfortable with her simply sitting there.
“So…” She should just go to bed and leave him in peace. She needed to catch up on some sleep anyway. But for some reason she couldn’t get up.
Maybe he enjoyed the company. That was a good reason to stay. So he didn’t feel lonely.
Sure, Sloane.
“Um…” She racked her brain to come up with some small talk so this whole thing didn’t feel so awkward. “Is there anything I need to know about Val’s schedule for tomorrow?”
When he took a drink of water to wash down a mouthful of quiche, her gaze locked on his throat as it undulated. She could tell he regularly lifted weights simply by the way his shoulders sloped upward to his thick neck.
“Not that I can remember.”
When the conversation fell off, she once again scrambled to think of something to talk about. The only thing they had in common besides their sisters being drug addicts—and that was not a conversation she wanted to have while he ate—was Val.
His niece was a safe topic.
“Did you check on her?” She had no doubt that, no matter how late he came home, he went into Val’s room to say goodnight. Even if she was fast asleep and had no idea he was there.
Sloane would do the same if she had kids. She wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly without first verifying with her own eyes that they were okay.